


𝟙:𝟜𝟝 𝕒𝕞 || 𝐒.𝐑.

by TeddyBearSurprise



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Criminal Minds Setting, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Bottom Spencer Reid, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fanfiction, Hurt Spencer Reid, Murder, Old Friends, Sad Spencer Reid, Slow Burn, Spencer Reid Angst, Unsub | Unknown Subject
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28863987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddyBearSurprise/pseuds/TeddyBearSurprise
Summary: "Spencer, I promised I'd keep this a secret, but you need to promise me something too. You have to let me know when you need help and you have to tell me about anything bad that happens. Yeah, we're geniuses, but that doesn't mean we can get through life alone. We're like fire and oxygen, there is no fire without oxygen. That means no me without you, and no you without me. We stick together, Spencer."*******Two kid geniuses can't take over the world, but they can take down each other. Spencer and Ophelia were once best friends, now Spencer's only job is to make sure that Ophelia never sees the light of day again. Even though it doesn't usually take a genius to stop a killer, Spencer is going to need a lot of help to take down this one.**Medium-Slow Burn**Content/Trigger Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse and violence, sexual assault (the football team incident), gore, blood, fire/pyromania, bullying, physical violence, guns, police, etc.I do not own any of the characters besides Ophelia Sutton and other minor characters. Some scenes are re-written to reflect cannon occurrences from the show, but all other plot points are my own. Credit goes to Jeff Davis for creating Criminal Minds.
Relationships: Catherine "Cat" Adams/Original Female Character, Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Disclaimer + Vibes :)

**_None of these disclaimers are calling anyone out, I just want to make sure that my expectations and intentions are clear before you begin reading this story. Also, please read these disclaimers, they're here for a reason._ **

This is purely a work of fiction and you will see the main character do a lot of despicable things, but that does not mean it is okay. Yes, sometimes I will joke about wanting to be like Ophelia, just remember that it is purely a joke and that the only redeeming qualities that Ophelia has, are her persistence and confidence. I genuinely don't think there's much else about her that is worthy of sympathy (besides her life story, but what she chose to do with that was not acceptable) or even admiration, so please remember this while you're reading. Again, I don't want to see people romanticizing Ophelia's actions unless you explicitly state that you're joking.

If you are joking (/j) or being sarcastic (/s) and it is not clear, please use tone tags so I don't misunderstand the context. Additionally, if you happen to say something genuine that might be misconstrued as sarcasm, please use /g for genuine or /srs for serious.

There will be mild violence and gore which is part of the reason for the mature-ish rating, I will not be introducing any smut until quite a few chapters in. Even when I do, I expect everyone to be mature about it. I don't want to have to monitor this story. This is also a medium-slow burn, if you can't handle something that has a plot and isn't just porn, please just choose another story and don't be mean about it.

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	2. Chapter 1: The End of an Era

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of domestic violence/abuse and sexual assault (in the context of public humiliation)

In 1994, two friends let their differences drive them apart. Though in this case their differences may even be regarded as similarities. Ophelia Sutton and Spencer Reid were an inseparable duo, bonded by the hardships of the child-prodigy life.

At the young age of nine, Ophelia Sutton was enrolled at a local Las Vegas high school and that same year the eight-year-old genius, Spencer Reid joined her. Over time they both witnessed bullying and discrimination, but Spencer always had it worse than Ophelia. People were scared to touch Ophelia, not because they feared that they would injure her, but because her father was the biggest lawyer in town. Having a big-shot dad helped sometimes, it kept her safe at school and ensured that she always had everything she desired, yet it also meant that she was always in the spotlight and never actually got to see him.

On the other hand, she remembered seeing her mother appear bruised and shaking before bedtime almost every night, sparing the days where her father was traveling. Ophelia's mother, Darla, would tuck her into bed and tell her about everything incredible she had seen at work, her voice faltering the whole time and holding back a tsunami of salted tears. Ophelia was a genius though, and it didn't take long for her to put two and two together. The bruises, the scars, the muffled sobs all pointed to one thing, but Ophelia knew she could not say anything. She longed for the day where her mother would get the justice she deserved. They waited for years, but justice never came. One day, however, not too long before she turned eight, her mother stopped coming home from work, her father started logging more hours at the firm, and Ophelia was left alone. Though she left without as much as a kiss goodbye, Ophelia found solace in knowing that her mother was fine. She tracked every paper and exposè that Darla published, but even knowing that she was safe did not make her departure any less painful.

Along with special bragging rights, her father's field of work guaranteed him custody of Ophelia. The case for custody between the parents was over quickly, Darla did not have enough money or bravery to retaliate. Though Ophelia wanted to blame her mother for leaving her and not fighting, she knew that this would have never been an issue had it not been for her abusive bastard of a father. She spent the next five years of her life resenting the man who gave her everything, but until she no longer needed him, her mouth was sealed and her attitude resembled that of a loving child.

Now, Ophelia was thirteen, no longer a scared middle-schooler but a senior in high school, ready to join the ranks of a real university. She and Spencer had been collecting every piece of college mail they had received, not opening anything and waiting until they had gotten something back from every university where they had applied. Neither applied to many schools, but Ophelia's last letter did not arrive until Pi Day, long after she had heard back from other institutions.

She and Spencer sat side by side excitedly in front of the couch in Ophelia's living room. They each held their respective piles, four schools each, in their hands and eagerly waited until the clock struck three-fourteen in the afternoon.

Spencer already had his top choice–CalTech– in his hands, ready to rip open the envelope at the drop of a hat. Ophelia, quite differently, was prepared to open her safety school–Wellesley College– first and waited to open her top choice last. A quiet beep was emitted from Spencer's geeky and clunky plastic watch and he immediately ripped open the envelope.

_Three and a Half Years Before Today_

A quiet boy sat on the bench outside of Ophelia's new school, but he looked much too young to be there, just like her. He was wearing a clean, checkered button-up shirt, tucked into some oddly fitting jeans. The boy seemed to have been dressed both sensibly and awkwardly and it only increased her curiosity about him. She approached him cautiously, wondering if he was even supposed to be there at all.

"Do you go here?" Her quiet voice pulled his attention from the large book he was reading.

He stared at her inquisitively before responding shyly but defensively, "I'm a freshman here, today is my first day. My name is Spencer Reid... What's yours?"

She held her hand out, the same way that her father had taught her to all those years ago, and introduced herself, "Ophelia Sutton," Spencer did not shake her hand though, "Do you not shake hands?"

"Germs." It was the only thing he said and Ophelia seemed amused by it.

"Well, 'Germs', we seem to be in the same boat here so I propose that we stick together. How old are you? I'm nine." She sat herself down abruptly onto the bench and saw Spencer's demeanor change by the slightest degree.

"I'm eight. We really are in very similar situations," He looked at Ophelia's still outstretched hand, "I still don't want to shake your hand though, even if we do become friends."

Ophelia chuckled and remembered something that her mother had said to her once about there being two types of 'kid geniuses'. The first type, like Ophelia, was the overly confident, extroverted, cocky, and self-assured kid who demolished every obstacle they encountered. The second type, like Spencer, was the awkward, introverted, anxious, and self-contained kid that, although they still exceeded every obstacle, did not 'demolish' it but rather found another way around it. Together, they would make a great team and Ophelia could not wait to see what they could do.

"That's okay, 'Germs', I don't mind. I never liked handshakes that much either, but my dad always says ' _The only proper way to greet a person is with a handshake._ '"

_Two Years Before Today_

"Hey, 'Germs'!" Ophelia ran over to her best friend who was staying after school to help out Mr. Johri, the school's calculus teacher.

Spencer greeted her with a smile, "Hi, Ophelia. Are you busy right now? It's Mr. Johri's son's birthday so I offered to help him grade some exams right now and we would finish a lot sooner if you could help... Only if you're free, of course."

"I'm always free to help my best friend do nerdy best friend things," she laughed and joined him in Mr. Johri's room.

"You do realize that you are a nerd too, right?" Spencer looked at Ophelia with a puzzled expression.

"Obviously, I was just joking Spence," Mr. Johri entered the room and the grading began.

The next hour went by in the blink of an eye, both because of Spencer's insanely fast reading speed and Ophelia's well-polished reasoning skills. Mr. Johri seemed to be very grateful and bid them adieu the second they finished, rushing off to join his son at home to celebrate. He trusted them, just as most of the school's teachers did, and left them with the key to his room, asking that they turn off the lights and lock the door when after they filed the exams in their appropriate binders.

Ophelia turned to Spencer with a question that had been plaguing her mind since their second week at school, "Hey, Spence, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, I don't see why not," he finished putting away the last binder.

"So I've noticed that you are almost _overly_ helpful here at school and I can't tell if it's just you being nice, or if you're covering for something. Because I know that you are very helpful at home too with your mom, but sometimes it feels like there's more to it when you stay after school." She cringed a bit, afraid that Spencer would take offense.

He relaxed as he began speaking, "Oh. Well, I'll be honest with you, Ophelia, because I trust you. Please don't tell anyone about what I'm going to say," he waited for her to nod and when she did it seemed as though a burden was being lifted off of his shoulder, "You know that my mom is sick and so does the school, but there are some days where I get so scared that they'll take me away from her and I overcompensate a bit by helping out here. I don't want them to think that my mom is in such bad shape that I can't spare time outside of school so I stay after school, even if it is just for half an hour. I have to be perfect. If I'm not, who knows what might happen to Diana and me."

This was the first time that Ophelia had heard Spencer call his mother by her first name, so she knew that he was serious. Just as anyone is expected to react after letting go of a burdensome secret, Spencer's eyes glazed over a bit. Ophelia noticed this from the corner of her eye and even though she knew he did not like physical affection, she brought him in for a hug.

"You're going to be okay Spencer," she heard his breath shudder, he was so young yet the burden of his whole life lay in his hands, "If anything happens, I can ask my dad to help you."

She released him from her embrace and grabbed him by the shoulders, he flinched slightly at her touch, "Sorry," her hands released their grip on his shoulders, "Spencer, I promised I'd keep this a secret, but you need to promise me something too. You have to let me know when you need help and you have to tell me about anything bad that happens. Yeah, we're geniuses, but that doesn't mean we can get through life alone. We're like fire and oxygen, there is no fire without oxygen. That means no me without you, and no you without me. We stick together, Spencer."

He looked up at her with hope in his eyes and thanked her profusely. They locked up Mr. Johri's room and started walking home. All the way back Ophelia danced and skipped while Spencer walked like a normal person. She sang along to a soundtrack that only played in her head, trying to forget every detail of every misfortune that was engraved into her little superpowered mind.

_A Year and a Half Before Today_

"Ophelia, have you seen Spencer? It's nearly eleven and he still hasn't come home," Diana Reid's voice crackled through the phone.

"Ms. Reid? Are you sure? I thought I saw Spencer leaving while I was in the physics lab around six," she was confused and scared, wondering if this was another one of Diana's episodes or if Spencer really was in trouble, "I'll be over in ten minutes to help you look for him, don't worry."

Ophelia ran out of her house, not even worrying about her father since he probably would not even return home tonight. She grabbed her small, green bicycle and pedaled as quickly as she could, hoping to arrive before the ten minutes she promised had passed. Within her time frame, eight minutes to be exact, she was standing in front of the Reid residence and knocking on the door frantically.

When Diana opened the door, Ophelia realized that she was one hundred percent lucid. Her heart rate shot up, even higher than it had been as she biked over. She greeted Diana curtly and briefly, running over to Spencer's room. Ophelia checked everywhere, every nook and cranny of their small, crowded home to no avail. She knew that Spencer would never hide, he was not the type to do so, but her adrenaline wiped her mind clean of all logic.

The school. She thought she had seen him leave the school, but what if he never left. What if he was still there. "Diana, I have to go. I think I know where he is. It's better if I go alone though, you wait here. I'll bring him back. Don't worry."

She picked her bicycle back up and dusted off the cushioned seat before getting back on. It took her nearly fifteen minutes to arrive there, but once she did she noticed something peculiar. She could hear the shrill cries of a child. It could only be Spencer. Her feet took off, running towards the direction of the sound.

"Help! Help! Please!" The voice grew weaker with each outburst but was definitely Spencer. She had already reached the school's parking lot and she felt the sound surrounding her, coming from every direction. She wanted to help him so much but her head was spinning with worry, drowning her in flashbacks. Every time she heard his voice break through her mind's barrier, she was pushed further into her past, recalling every time she heard her mother's whimpers.

Her small body fell to the ground and her breathing became shallow as memories of her mother, whom she had not spoken to in years, flooded her thoughts. She tried her best to suppress the images and sounds that she had blocked from her conscious memory for so long.

Five things she could see. A parking spot, her hands, the sidewalk, the sky, the road. Four things she could touch. Her shoes, her hair, the ground, her nails. Three things she could hear. Cars, an airplane flying above, Spencer. Spencer!

Her head lifted instantly from the ground and the fog in her mind cleared. Ophelia aggressively shook her head as she stood up. She wiped her hands against her shirt and wiped the tears from her eyes. Spinning her head around, she located the direction from which Spencer's yelps were coming and started off running.

She reached the football field and was taken back by the sight that met her. Spencer was tied to a goalpost, naked, shivering, and crying. Even though Las Vegas was hot during the day, its nights could get extremely cold. She rushed over to him, collecting every article of clothing that had been strewn around him before untying him. Ophelia made sure not to look anywhere that might either jeopardize their friendship or embarrass him any further. Her shaking and cold hands struggled against the tightly tied ropes, but as soon as they released, Spencer fell to the ground. She helped him get dressed in silence, knowing that he probably would not want to talk about it.

He held onto her arm to support himself as they walked back to the parking lot. They walked in silence, each too afraid to break the quiet aura that surrounded them until Ophelia could no longer contain herself, "Spencer, what happened?"

He looked down at his feet and now ripped jeans and shook his head without speaking, but Ophelia would not let it slide, "You made a promise to me, one year and four months ago, 'Germs'. I know you remember it. You promised to tell me if anything bad happened, and me finding you naked and alone in the middle of a football field definitely crosses into that territory."

"Okay, but please don't laugh or judge me, I don't know what I was thinking. I didn't mean for this to happen."

Ophelia leaned down to pick up her bicycle, "What the hell happened, Spencer," it was not a question but a demand.

They began their journey back to the Reid residence and Spencer began.

"It all started with Harper Hillman. She told me that Alexa Lisbon wanted to see me after school, and you know how Alexa is one of the prettiest girls in the school, so I went. I wanted to know why _the_ Alexa Lisbon would want to talk to _me._ She asked me to meet 'Alexa' by the fieldhouse behind the football field at six-fifteen, but when I got there I didn't see Alexa. I didn't see anyone, Ophelia. There was no one there, I should have left when no one showed up, I can't believe I fell for it. I wanted to think that Alexa was just late, that she had gotten caught up in something. Then the football team showed up. Ophelia, it was every single one of them. Even the backup players, the ones who just sit on the bench. Even the water boy was there. They surrounded me and I couldn't go anywhere. I tried everything to get away from them, but it was too late." Spencer took a breath, exhausted from both the story and the walking.

"Jason, the big quarterback, grabbed me first. I thought he was going to break me. I couldn't breathe and he just kept holding me harder the more I tried to resist him. Then his goon, Braden, started undressing me. I don't think I've ever been that uncomfortable, their laughter was everywhere. I tried closing my eyes to block them out but it only seemed to egg them on more. As much as I tried, I couldn't do anything. After that they practically slammed me onto that goalpost, I felt like a stuck pig on there, just waiting for the pain to end. And then they all left, I had been on there for over four hours when you got there, Ophelia. I honestly don't know what I would have done without you. The field has already been retired for the season so I doubt that anyone else would have gone there for at least another day." They rounded the corner to Spencer's house and she helped him inside.

About an hour had passed since Ophelia had last seen Diana, but she did not know so much time had passed. When they entered, they saw Diana sitting on the kitchen floor and she greeted Spencer as if nothing had happened. Another episode. Spencer looked embarrassed and rushed into his room, pulling Ophelia along with him. "I'm so sorry, I don't want you to see her like this. You can leave if you want. I know it makes some people uncomfortable," he turned his head back to where Diana sat.

"I'm not leaving. You shouldn't be alone right now, not after what happened. We'll get through this together. Nerds unite, am I right?" She lifted her elbow and waited for Spencer to elbow bump her in recognition.

"Nerds unite..."

_Today: March Fourteenth, 1994_

A smile spread across Spencer's face, the biggest one she had probably ever seen on him and she knew what it meant. She looked down at the now open envelope in her hands, 'Congratulations, Ophelia!' She was relieved, unsurprised and indifferent, but relieved.

"Congrats on CalTech, 'Germs'!" She bumped his shoulder roughly and he pretended to fall over. 

"Aren't you going to open yours?" Spencer pointed to the MIT envelope that was lying untouched on the ground.

"Yeah, of course I am," she grabbed it abruptly and opened it to reveal the letter inside, she scanned over the words over and over again, "I did it! _We_ did it, Spencer! We did it!"

They celebrated, not even bothering to open their other letters. Then it hit them. All of those years they had spent supporting each other, holding each other up, and protecting each other were ending now. They would be on opposite sides of the country and statistically speaking, they would lose contact with each other within the first eight months.

"Ophelia, we can still be friends. A few thousand miles never stopped anyone," Spencer never lied so it was clear that he really did want to believe what he said, "We've already been through so much together, you're my only friend. This can't be the end."

She looked at him through teary eyes and saw that he was crying as well, "It's only the end if you let it be."

The phone rang and Ophelia jumped up to attend it, expecting her father to be on the other side of the line asking her about MIT, but instead, she heard Diana's frantic voice.

"Spencer, it's your mom," she handed him the receiver as he stood up. He stayed on the line for nearly ten minutes, seemingly calming his exasperated mother. Once the call ended, so did their celebration and he rushed out in a frenzy as Ophelia yelled out after him to remind him to call her if he needed her help.

_Four and a Half Years After Today_

By the time they graduated from their respective universities, they had not spoken for years. Though they came from such similar, and nearly identical, backgrounds, everything about them was now different. Spencer was preparing to enter his first doctorate course, but on the other side of the country, Ophelia was preparing to enter a life of chaos and disorder. 


	3. Chapter 2: The Brink of Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of death/murder and excessive drinking

It was nearing five o'clock when Ophelia wandered through the aisles of some random corner store in Downtown LA, picking up, examining, and adding items to her basket. She was thinking about what to do for New Years', only four weeks remained before she would enter 2018 and she could not wait to celebrate. She considered crashing a party in LA, staying at home and watching the ball drop on the television, or possibly even flying out to New York to see it for herself.

Ophelia had made a lot of money in her youth, showered in promotions and offers from some of the biggest engineering companies in the United States and beyond. Now, at the age of thirty-seven, she rarely had to work anymore. Her days and nights were generally spent in the solitude of her home, simply reading or researching novelties. It was rare for Ophelia to go out and travel, so visiting New York City on New Years' sounded like a swell idea. She nursed the idea as she walked, deciding to look into it further once she returned home and she continued her shopping.

The first items that she picked up were two fresh linen-scented candles, one bottle of acetone, and a nice bottle of cheap, red wine. It felt like just yesterday she had turned twenty-one and buying alcohol still felt like a crime... frankly, a lot of things she did felt like that. She was about to enter the snack aisle to look for some decadent snacks, but she heard a television chittering from the front of the store, catching her attention.

"One more dead celebrity this morning, it's absolutely tragic. Rachel, what do you think is happening? These murders are scaring everyone, myself included."

"Well, Diego, it seems as though the perpetrator, or possibly perpetrators, are targeting rich, male celebrities. Why exactly, we do not know. More about the Golden Murders after this break–"

Ophelia was amused by their ignorance, "If only they knew who those men really were," she thought to herself.

An ad began playing and Ophelia's attention was once more drawn to her hunger. She found the popcorn first, stocking up on three boxes of the salty snack before searching for her other craving. Once she added a bar of dark chocolate to her now overflowing basket, she headed towards the checkout lines.

She acted incredibly nonchalant, her expression never faltered from its indifferent norm, even as the clerk conversed with her.

"You see what they just showed on the news? Scary stuff, huh?" The cashier looked up at Ophelia, raising his eyebrows.

"Uhhh, yeah. It is kind of scary, I guess. I'm not a man though, so I don't really think I have to worry," she did not want to divulge much on the subject, preferring to keep an ambiguous expression.

The cashier ignored her dismissive tone and continued rambling on, "Y'know, when the first one happened I wasn't that surprised, these rich people can get mixed up in some shady things sometimes so I was like, 'It's just one dead rich man, what's the big deal?' But now. Now, I'm definitely thinking that something's up. Either they're all in the same cult," he lowered his voice and leaned towards Ophelia who withdrew from him.

"Or they've all done something really, really bad," he straightened up again and finished scanning her items, "Your total is gonna be twenty-three dollars and forty-eight cents. Cash or card?"

His demeanor returned to normal and Ophelia shrugged off the odd tangent he had gone off on before replying, "Cash, exact change," and picking up her bag as she dropped her money on the counter.

She exited the store quickly and threw her purchase into the front, passenger's seat of her 1982 Chevrolet Citation. A classic, but somewhat ugly, light blue car. She inserted her key into the ignition, pushed down on her brake pedal, and twisted it a few times as the engine sputtered. Annoyed at her junk car, she smacked her hand against the key angrily. This time when she turned it, however, the engine started. She pulled out of the crowded, street-side parking spot and started on her way home.

Her brain was clouded and churning, both hating and loving all of the attention she was indirectly receiving on the news. Despite slightly enjoying the attention, she wished people would not talk about it as much, especially if they were spending most of the time idolizing the abusive men who were killed. Even opening the windows to feel the brisk air as she drove did nothing to clear her mind. She turned to her last resort, the radio. She cranked up the volume, which was not actually loud at all, and turned the station to one that was playing one of her favorite songs from the 2012 era. Ophelia sang along loudly, enjoying the rhythm and lyrics equally.

When the song ended though, the station's hosts brought up the Golden Murders once more, infuriating her and her grip tightened on the steering wheel.

"So, we've just received news that federal law enforcement will now be taking interest in this upsetting case. What do you think of this?"

"I think that it's a great idea. I have no doubt that our local law enforcement was doing their best, but these are celebrities we're talking about, their faces are plastered everywhere and people look up to them. It's scaring people, you know? The faster they can get to the bottom of this, the better."

"You heard it here first, folks. The FBI will be landing here in LA in _two_ days, whoever is behind these murders, you better buckle up buddy. Until next time on 97.9, the station of your dreams!"

Ophelia rolled her eyes and clicked it off, so much for escaping her problems. She hated the way that these reporters always made her feel like the prey when in reality, she was the hunter. But she was not the only hunter in this game. Her partner, Catherine, was just as guilty and probably nowhere near as worried as Ophelia. She was almost certain that it was just Catherine's clinically psychotic tendencies that gave her the upper hand in situations like these, but she still felt a tinge of jealousy.

She had met Catherine 'Cat' Adams a few years ago on Tinder. Cat's profile surprised her, bringing all of the spunk of a younger woman, despite being only a year younger than Ophelia, but without the immaturity. On their first date, they went out to one of those silly drive-in movies and watched the worst possible movie in cinematic existence. It did not matter to them though because they talked the entire time, sharing their favorite and their most hated things about life.

Ophelia soon realized that she and Catherine were near mirror images of each other, in terms of ideologies at least. After only three more dates, the two became an official couple. Cat even admitted, two months into their relationship, that she never intended to make a Tinder account and said that it was much too irresponsible in her line of work. When Ophelia asked Cat what this line of work was, she received a very ambiguous answer.

"I'd love to tell you, hun, but I don't think I can. Not yet, at least. Maybe someday," she could remember Cat tucking her hair behind her ear and cupping her chin as she said this next part, "when we've been together for longer, I might even invite you to come work with me."

She never expected that a couple of years later, she and Cat would become a murderous duo, slightly resembling the women of the musical, _Chicago_. Though they had broken up the first time that Cat was sent to prison, they remained extremely close and it was not until she escaped in August that they began their moonlight endeavors.

According to Catherine, it had been 'shockingly' easy and 'way too fun' to escape, not even requiring her to employ her 'Plan B'. Ophelia did not even know that she would be seeing Cat again within the century, but when she showed up on Ophelia's doorstep in the middle of the night, her ex-lover could not help but let her back into her life.

Cat's slightly off-kilter and bold mannerisms were some of Ophelia's favorite things about her. Now, unfortunately, Cat was forced to be much more low-key. She drove the most average car in existence, a run-down 2008 Toyota Corolla; lived in an extremely average apartment with one room and one bathroom; and looked like the average Los Angelean thirty-year-old-woman with her now blonde hair.

Ophelia paid for all of Cat's expenses, like her apartment and groceries, and though it barely dented her pockets, she always made sure that Catherine respected the fact that she was spending Ophelia's money and not her own. They had an incredibly symbiotic relationship, of course, living apart did make some aspects more difficult. Ophelia took care of all of the necessities, such as materials and planning and Cat took care of the creative aspects of their 'activities'.

They could not fully remember how it all happened. It started innocently with some tequila shots and the celebration of Cat's return. Within an hour, however, the two were stumbling around drunk and preaching their hatred for their abusive fathers and men in general which, for a while, was fine. Suddenly things took a turn when Cat asked if Ophelia had ever considered killing her father. Ophelia laughed drunkenly for a few minutes before managing to spit out the fact that he was already dead. The two of them burst into a cacophony of drunken laughter that rang throughout her house. When they calmed down though, Cat asked again, this time even more serious. The rest, including a bit of an _entanglement_ between them, was history because what happens on a drunken night, stays in the drunken night.

For some reason, thinking about her and Cat's history brought her a sense of peace. So much so that she was already pulling into her driveway when she switched her train of thought. The yellow-beige tones of her house repulsed her, but they were neutral and bland, practically guaranteeing that she would stay out of people's line of sight. Ophelia opened her car door, leaning her elbow on the top of it, and looked behind her admiring the landscape of the mountains that surrounded her home, because even if the home itself was ugly, at least it had a good view. She leaned back into her car to grab her purse and shopping bag before slamming the car door and heading towards its trunk. Inside, she retrieved a trash bag, which although very large and cold, was surprisingly light and easy to carry.

She carried all of these into her house, struggling to open the door with only one free hand, and set them down near her back door. After writing down a quick note to look more into the idea of going to New York, Ophelia began putting up her new purchases. She was incredibly tired and not entirely in the mood to do menial cleaning duties but continued anyway. The two candles each earned a spot on either side of her countertop, the wine went into her refrigerator, and the snacks got tossed into the pantry. The acetone, on the other hand, got a very special spot in her pocket. She carried it with her outside, picking up the trash bag on her way to her backyard.

Ophelia stopped in front of an oddly-shaped fire-pit, one of her own inventions from her time at MIT (it seemed useless at the time but now came in handy), and lifted its cover. It featured a thick, steel, rounded lid and a sturdy concrete body. She dumped out the contents of the trash bag into the strange pit, promptly followed by her pouring out the bottle of acetone and banging the top shut. After waiting a few seconds, enough time for enough of the acetone to accumulate inside the pit in its gaseous form, she clicked a small red button and heard a blast go off inside. It had been specially designed to withstand the accumulated pressure of an incredibly powerful flash fire, though the ones she was creating were not very large. A few more seconds later, following the activation of the pit's exhaust system, Ophelia opened it back up to reveal the ashes of her once bloodied clothing.

She coughed at the pungent smell and rushed back inside to where there was cleaner air. Even within her house, the smell followed her, so she decided to light her two new candles and take a shower.

When she exited, her stomach let out a low grumble which she felt deeply. Ophelia shuffled over to her refrigerator to grab a slice of cold pizza. She devoured it hungrily, still feeling unsatisfied. Now turning to her second plan, wine and popcorn, she pranced to her pantry, grabbing the popcorn, and then to her fridge to retrieve the wine. Ophelia carefully poured herself a glass of the red liquid as she waited for her bag of the unhealthy, salty snack in the microwave to finish popping. Once the microwave dinged, it was time for her to start the party.

She downed her first glass of wine in one continuous gulp and turned on some absurdly loud music, which, thanks to her somewhat isolated location, no one else could hear. Ophelia now danced with a hand full of popcorn and the bottle of wine in the other. It had barely been ten minutes and she was already drunk. She stumbled into her kitchen to grab some more popcorn from the bag when she saw her phone light up out of the corner of her eye. Ophelia tried to distinguish the name that had appeared on her screen, but her vision was much too blurred for her to tell.

"It's probably nothing, just a scam call... I mean, who else would call me at," She tried to read the clock on the wall, "I don't know, but it's late why can't they just leave me alone."

Her drunken thoughts slurred together as she ignored her phone, only inciting her to increase the volume of her already blaring music. Popcorn, in her drunken state and time of night, tasted extra good and Ophelia finished the bag almost immediately. She rounded the corner, into her living room, and continued to dance to the beat of the music with the bottle in her left hand. Her clumsy feet stumbled slightly, leading her to bump into a bookshelf.

Ophelia looked up at the bookshelf angrily, almost as if it was a real person that she had bumped into, but her eyes softened when they settled upon a picture frame. "'Germs'", she recalled lovingly as she touched the glass gently. It was a framed photograph of her and Spencer at their first Science Olympiad competition.

They were the only members on their team, but it did not matter because they still managed to garner themselves a shining, first place trophy. She remembered how difficult it had been to convince the teachers at her school to let them start the club, how they spent hours going over budgets, fundraising, and game plans. More than anything though, she remembered how happy Spencer had been to take home his very own prize.

A feeling of sadness and longing welled up inside her, wishing she could be as innocent as that girl in the photograph, wishing that she had not lost contact with her first 'best friend'. Alas, the night was coming to an end and she could not bear the pain of her sorrows, so with another prolonged swig, Ophelia finished the bottle of wine.

She gave it a few minutes to act, turning off her music and sitting herself down on her couch awkwardly, before feeling its sedating effects. Quietly, she placed the bottle on the ground and looked up once more at the picture on her bookshelf while her heavy eyes closed for a night of dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 3: I've Heard it All Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of blood/bleeding, bodily harm, pain, threats, and unsafe driving

It was nearly one in the morning when Catherine's feet began traveling quickly across the linoleum floors of her apartment. She had been calling Ophelia repeatedly for the past hour. Cat paced around with an angered expression on her face, eyebrows furrowed together, eyes widened, and mouth gaping. Her breathing grew less and less regulated by the second as her anger welled up. Her right hand gripped on the wooden countertop and in her left, her phone lay idly as she watched the line ring to no avail for the hundredth time.

"WHAT THEFUCK, OPHELIA!" Cat yelled loudly at her phone and slammed it into the ground.

Her hands flew up to her hair, grasping it exasperatedly.

"Shit, shit, shit. Oh god, what the hell did I just do," Cat leaned down, her anger now turning to fear, picking up the broken pieces of glass, plastic, and metal that were strewn around her.

"I– I can't do this right now," Cat pushed the pieces of her broken cellphone under her couch and ran over to her closet, nearly slipping on her way there. Her shaking hands reached for a change of clothes which she put on quickly. She ran back over to the front door of her apartment, yanking her keys off of the wall and slipping her feet into the first shoes she saw. She bolted out of the door, ignoring the elevator and instead, running down the stairs to the garage.

Once she reached her car, she sat in it, hands gripping the steering wheel, but refusing to go anywhere. She slammed her head against the wheel repeatedly with tears streaming down her face, "I can't do this again," she spoke with a fearful shakiness in her voice.

"I can't lose again. I won't lose. I won't," Cat took a deep breath in and wiped her tears from her eyes.

She reached down to grab her keys and turned on the car, its engine grumbling as it came to life. Her car swerved aggressively between the lanes, trying to get to Ophelia's house as quickly as possible.

Cat's mind wandered with every moment, almost as random as the twists and turns that she was making with her car, "What if I'm too late? They said they would be arriving after tomorrow, but what if they were wrong? What if Reid is already there? What if they have Ophelia?"

She veered the car again, completely distracted and just barely making it in between two cars, "I should go home, they don't know where I am, I can still hide," she shook her head fearfully, "Spencer doesn't know where I am... Right? There's no way that he knows. I'm just going to warn Ophelia, it's gonna be okay. We're not going to get caught. He won't get me again, he won't get us, I won't let him win this time."

A traffic light, only twenty meters ahead of her, turned yellow and she stepped down even harder on the car's acceleration. As she approached it, however, the light turned red and the cars from the other lanes began to move across the intersection. Upon seeing Cat's accelerating car, most drivers slammed onto their brakes, garnering a symphony of honks from behind them. For the few cars that did not, Cat expertly swerved around, only narrowly missing them.

"WHY THE HELL IS ANYONE EVEN DRIVING RIGHT NOW," Cat yelled at the crowded road in front of her, "IT IS ONE IN THE MORNING! GO TO BED!"

After her near brush with death, Cat's drive was exceptionally ordinary, but her anger did not falter. Forty minutes, and a handful of anxious thoughts later, she had arrived at Ophelia's doorstep. She stopped the car abruptly after pulling into the driveway and cleared her vision by aggressively rubbing her eyes.

Cat got out of the car, slamming the door behind her and stomping over to Ophelia's front door, "OPHELIA! WAKE UP! NOW!"

Her clenched fist banged on the door rhythmically with a brute force that exceeded the size of her body, "I AM NOT IN THE MOOD TODAY! OPHELIA! I'M SERIOUS! WAKE THE FUCK UP AND OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR!"

There was no answer, no light flicking on, and no motion within the house. Cat was growing impatient and now kicking the door, "OPHELIA G–DDAMN SUTTON! OPEN THIS DOOR BEFORE I DRIVE OVER TO NEVADA AND BURN YOUR FUCKING MOTHER TO ASHES!"

She leaned down to pick up a rock and threw it through one of the windows. It landed only a foot away from Ophelia who had rolled off of the couch in her slumber. Ophelia's head shot up, her eyes flickered open, and she let out a small groan as she grasped her aching head, "What the fuck is going on?"

Ophelia turned over onto her stomach and saw Cat's car outside, "Oh no." 

She scrambled onto her feet rapidly. Her body still lightly swaying due to her not yet being sober and her deathly hangover. Ophelia let her feet carry her slowly to her front door, careful to avoid the shards of glass that were now covering half of the floor. When she reached it, she only barely opened it, scared as to why Cat was acting the way she was, "Hi, Cat. Ummm... What's the matter?"

"WHAT'S THE MATTER?!" Cat screeched back, "THE FUCKING _FBI_ ARE ON OUR TAILS AND I _KNOW_ THE TEAM THAT'S COMING HERE. THEY'RE THE ONES WHO PUT ME IN THAT FUCKING HELLHOLE IN THE FIRST PLACE, OPHELIA!"

Ophelia stood there with a shocked and dazed look on her face before she gathered her thoughts enough to respond, "Right, that's not great news, but I still don't get _why_ you're here, Cat. They're not going to catch us, stop worrying," she began to shut the door, but Cat's hand stopped her.

She rolled her eyes at Ophelia, "We have to leave you fucking dimwit. We can't stay here or they'll catch us both and I am _not_ letting that son-of-a-bitch, Reid, catch me again."

"I'm not leaving, Catherine. I don't know what your obsession is with this 'Reid' person is, but I'm not letting your paranoia affect me," her words stung Cat deeply.

"This isn't paranoia, Ophelia. I went _years_ without anyone even coming close to finding me out. This 'Reid person' is the only one who has ever caught me. He knows _everything_ about me and I bet that he knows everything about you too. It's too late, we have to go. Now." Cat reached out to grab Ophelia's wrist.

"No, he doesn't, Catherine," she shook Cat's hand off of her arm, "You are being paranoid. We covered our tracks. We even used a different M.O. than your signature. There is literally _nothing_ connecting you to this case and if you're so fucking _blinded_ by your fear that you can't realize that, then I don't want to work with you anymore."

"Take it back," said Cat, and Ophelia shook her head.

Cat only grew more agitated with Ophelia's denial, "I said. Take. It. Back. Stop joking like this, Ophelia."

Ophelia scoffed at her, "Who said I was joking?"

"What the hell? I don't think you understand the fucking severity of what is happening right now. We are on the brink of getting caught so I came here to warn you, yet all I get in return is your hatred. You were the first person I thought about, Ophelia. The first one. I care about you, why can't you see that?" Cat's eyes softened ever so slightly and almost won Ophelia over.

"Nope. I don't _want_ to see it, Catherine. Because it's always about you no matter what the situation is. I'm not getting involved in your irrational semantics this time around, okay? Just leave. I don't have enough patience to deal with you right now," Ophelia pushed Cat's hand out of the doorway and slammed the door shut.

"YOU'RE GOING TO REGRET THIS, OPHELIA! JUST WAIT," Cat broke into a fit of deranged laughter which rang through the valley.

"HE'S GONNA GET YOU, AND I'M NOT GONNA HELP YOU. IT'S NOW OR NEVER, OPHELIA. NOW OR NEVER. IF YOU DON'T COME WITH ME NOW, THEN THIS IS ALL OVER! IF YOU LET ME LEAVE, WE'RE OVER!"

Cat was lingering impatiently beside her car, waiting for Ophelia to join her as a small tear slipped from her eye, contrasting with the rage that took the forefront in her words.

Ophelia yelled out towards Cat from behind the closed door, "YOU DON'T SCARE ME, CAT! I'VE HEARD IT ALL BEFORE, BUT YOU NEVER, EVER, EVER GO THROUGH WITH ANYTHING. YOU DON'T SCARE ME CATHERINE ADAMS, AND NEITHER DOES THAT FUCKING IDIOT, REID, YOU KEEP COMPLAINING ABOUT."

Cat spared one last look towards the silent house and made eye contact with Ophelia who was hiding behind the door. When Ophelia did not budge, she got into her car and sped away, visibly fuming.

"I'll see you on the other side, hun," Ophelia whispered under her breath and slid down the front door.

After sitting in this position for nearly ten minutes, Ophelia stood up, remembering that she had to clean up Cat's mess. She had swept up all of the shards, collecting them into a pile by the door, but had forgotten to grab a dustpan. Her eyes darted around her surroundings. Still, she could not find a dustpan anywhere. What she did find, however, was a sheet of corrugated plastic. Ophelia swept the shards onto the floppy sheet of plastic and carefully crept over to her trash can.

On her way over, Ophelia's foot slipped in the darkness and though she did not fall, a large shard of glass did. Without even thinking, her impulses kicked in and her other hand jolted forward to catch the falling piece of glass. Her eyes winced shut as a shock of pain coursed through her arm and she did her best not to drop any more glass while she finished her journey to the garbage bin.

When everything was thrown away, including the shard that had been in her hand, she crumpled onto the floor with blood streaming down her arm. The pain now dulled into a pulsing numbness and her mind grew foggy as she lost more and more blood. With adrenaline coursing through her rapidly diminishing supply of blood, Ophelia grabbed firmly onto her wrist, below the cut to stop the bleeding, and stood up. She made her way over to her bathroom where she kept her first-aid kit, still dripping blood all over the ground.

Ophelia let go of her wrist to open her first-aid kit and the blood began pooling in her hands again. She finally opened the box and twisted the cap off of the alcohol, pouring it directly onto her bleeding hand. She screamed out as she felt the alcohol burning every nerve in her arm. The blood washed away with the alcohol and the bleeding slowed.

Now feeling somewhat better, she grabbed the suture kit that was buried within and ripped it open with her teeth. Ophelia inhaled deeply, flinching as the tip of the needle passed through the thick skin of her hand. She worked quickly and let her adrenaline, and the weak effects of last night's drinking, take her over again, numbing her mind and body.

After eight stitches, Ophelia's hand was finally fixed, though she could not move it. She doused it in alcohol again and wrapped it tightly in gauze. She put everything back up and went into her closet to change into pajamas. Once dressed, Ophelia got into bed, hoping to get some sleep and forget the wretched events of the day.

Ophelia let out a long sigh and spoke to herself, "I just wanted a normal night. Why couldn't I just have a normal night," she turned her head up to the skylight in her room, "Whoever you are, Reid, you better have a damn good reason for scaring Cat this much."


	5. Chapter 4: Filling in The Blanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of violence, blood, police, alcohol, stalking, car crash (not the main character), and bondage (non-sexual).
> 
> Authors Note: This is an alternate universe situation set around the time of seasons 13 and 14 but I kept Hotch and Prentiss because they're some of my favorite characters. This fic does not follow cannon occurrences so please keep this in mind.

Ophelia sat on her couch moping over Cat's disappearance. It had been two days since Cat left. She wouldn't pick up her phone, which Ophelia did not know was broken, and Ophelia thought she was ignoring her. In reality, however, Cat was trying to reach Ophelia by payphone but could not remember her number. Barely ten minutes had passed since ten in the morning, and Ophelia was already nursing her third beer of the day. Her motivation to do anything, to be anything, had completely disappeared.

She lazily clicked through the channels before settling on the news. Now, Ophelia was not one to regularly check the news, but this station had a particularly handsome reporter that she loved to watch. In her mind, he was the only viable man left in Los Angeles. Her aptitude for stalking and predating did not end with her victims and was a driving force in all aspects of her life. According to her standards, he checked out: a clean digital history, a clean social presence, good financials, no unhappy exes, and most importantly he was single.

Today, however, Ophelia was less than pleased with what he had to say. "The FBI has landed here, in Los Angeles, this morning to investigate the mysterious murders of five young and famous men. They are working in conjunction with the LAPD and are searching for answers. More on this after the break–"

She rolled her eyes and crossed him off of her mental list of "viable LA men" which now held a whopping zero names. Her hand reached for the remote and clicked off onto another channel, hoping for something a bit more light-hearted.

_On The Jet Earlier That Day_

The BAU's luxurious, white jet had taken off only moments earlier and was flying quickly from Quantico to Los Angeles. Hotch looked at his team, all eagerly waiting for his instruction, before addressing them, "We're dealing with a very experienced killer here and they might even have a partner based on the amount of physical strength that it would take to restrain men of this size. The M.O. has been consistent since the very first case and there were no trials and no errors, meaning that we found no similar attacks in the Los Angeles area that occurred before these. They started attacking right off the bat and we need to find out why. Garcia will fill you in on the details."

The screen above Hotch's head was now occupied by a perky blonde, "Garcia here! Ready to rock and roll? Yeah? No? Okay, tough crowd. So, first up we have Rick Garza, twenty-eight years old and living in Glendale. He's not the most famous actor, but he is definitely on Hollywood's radar... should I say 'was'? Not important... Last year Mr. Garza started working in sideline films like _Danika's Delight_ –a great movie by the way–and worked his way up to major ones like _Begum's Trial_ which was supposed to finish filming next month. He doesn't have many enemies in the industry, a pretty well-liked guy, for the most part. He did have some disputes with the financial department on set, but that happens all the time so I don't think it was a contributing factor. Uhhhh... his wife, Maci Garza, said she was out shopping with friends but when she came home and went to her room to put her new, shiny things away, she found Rick like this–"

A photo of Rick flashed onto everyone's screens. He was hogtied with his legs and hands tied together behind his back, an apple occupying his mouth, and big bloody letters covering his back that read 'suck on this, you bastard'. Rick's body was laid on its stomach, so his hands and feet were in the air, and based on the images, he had been positioned to face the door, almost like he was waiting for someone to walk in.

"Yeesh, if I were to die like that, I don't think I would want to have been born at all," Rossi tried to lighten the mood with his snarky comment and his jokester reputation never disappointed.

Garcia rolled her eyes at Rossi and continued, "Agreed, not the best way to go out. Moving on to vic number two, we have Simon Boyd, thirty-two, and also living in Glendale. He was a very, very popular chef, you all might know his restaurant, 'Boyd & Boyd'. It opened up ten years ago and has gotten an impressive three Micheline stars. According to co-workers, he's a 'nice guy with the worst anger-issues in all of LA', that is a direct quote, by the way. Kind of contradictory, kind of confusing, didn't help me that much."

"So, I did a little deep-dive into his online presence, he seems pretty clean, but looking into his wife's life is where it gets weird. Back in the day, Daniela had a _massive_ online presence, like massive. There was not a day where she did not post about her friends or life updates. But about three years ago she was living in a pretty bad part of town and then she met Simon. After that, she stopped working, stopped going out, stopped posting, all that jazz. She essentially disappeared from the face of the earth and only went out when there were events for Simon's restaurant. Kind of sketchy if you ask me. Also, they got married like two months after meeting and he immediately put all of her assets in his name. Basically, he owned her."

Garcia took a moment to find the rest of her notes, "Daniela was actually on their house property when Simon was killed. She was in their backyard, swimming, and when she went back inside he was dead. So as Hotch said, very experienced killers. Simon also left almost _nothing_ to Daniela so take that as you will. As for the M.O., it looks pretty standard, the same as with Garza." 

Garcia pressed a few buttons and some photos of Boyd's crime scene appeared on their tablets. This time, it was Emily who spoke up, "Garcia, you said that Daniela didn't get a lot from Simon in his will, so who got everything?"

"I am so glad you asked, Emily!" Garcia bore a wide smile, "All of Simon's assets went to an Eric Matteo Bowes, but the problem is, there is no Eric Matteo Bowes. He doesn't exist. And the only one that does, lives in Puerto Rico and has never been in the same state as Simon. So basically he left his entire life to a mystery man."

"Why would he do that? Is it possible that it's some kind of pseudonym? Maybe it means something else?" Replied Emily with a confused expression.

"Already there, my love. I called Boyd's lawyer and he said that while he could not give specific details, he did confirm that Bowes does not exist. Yet another mystery to solve, we just have to see if this is related to Boyd's death or not."

They went on like this for the next hour, bouncing around ideas and debating if certain occurrences had any significance in the cases. Once all of the cases had been discussed, Reid raised his hand to speak, still resembling the quiet kid that Ophelia knew, "Guys, I think the unsub is female. Look at the amount of rage," he pointed to the photos of the men's' slit throats, "this is a very up-close kill and it indicates that there may be a personal motive too. That's something we see a lot in female serial killers, it tends to stem from trauma that they feel they cannot let go of. And it's definitely a duo, two of the victims were athletes, indicating that at least two unsubs would be needed to restrain them, especially to get them on top of the bed after. But not more than two, bigger killing teams are more prone to mistakes and disorganization, I'm not seeing any of that here. My guess, is that these two bonded over their hatred of men, as indicated by the message written on the victims' backs, and somewhere along the line they decided to put their message out there through violence. Garcia, we need to start looking into females living in the greater LA area who have filed reports for domestic abuse against males within the past five years, cross-reference that with females whose mothers were either missing, dead, or not involved."

"Give me one second, pretty boy." Garcia's painted nails clacked loudly on her keyboard and they all watched as she typed at an alarming speed with her pen still in her hand.

"Anndddd done! We have seventeen lovely ladies here, one of them passed away a week ago and three have recently moved to other California cities. So we're down to thirteen now. Up first we have Miss Daniella Olson, twenty-three, and worked as a sales clerk for Knight's Knives up until two months ago... hmmm. Possible unsub? Oh wait, she stopped working at Knight's because she sustained debilitating injuries from a car crash. That's unfortunate. Up next is Kiya Driscoll, thirty years old and living in eastern LA. Geographically she doesn't look like a match, but let me see what comes up when I dig a little deeper."

After less than a minute, Garcia had managed to take a deep look into Kiya's life and left no stone unturned. "She's squeaky clean, moving on. Belle Jones, twenty-five and also in the hospital. Hmmm... change of plans, my lovelies, I will get back to you when I have a list of possible unsubs."

They discussed the case while Garcia looked into each of the girls' backgrounds.

Hotch's deep voice suddenly boomed through the jet, "These unsubs are experienced, they have likely experimented in other states, which would explain how their kills were so clean right off the bat. The only problem is that when I looked into it, there were no similar cases except for one case in Las Vegas from nineteen-ninety-nine. There was only one suspect, Darla Sutton, but there was never enough evidence to convict her. Our current case also profiled that we would be dealing with a team of young killers, Darla is already in her late sixties. We could be dealing with copycats or even an apprentice of some kind. Garcia, can you change the search to include anyone who has ever been affiliated with Darla Sutton?"

"Yes, Sir, already ahead of you!" Chirped Garcia. "Allow me to introduce you to Miss Ophelia Sutton, Darla's daughter. Thirty-seven years old and she has not worked in four years, but lemme tell you, this girl is _rich._ Like, buy a house on the moon rich. She graduated from MIT when she was seventeen and went straight into huge engineering companies like Z-Tech and Cormac & Robles, she was able to reach the top by the time she was twenty-one and she's made enough money to sustain several families for at least fifty yea–"

Spencer's eyes widened in shock and he completely zoned out as Garcia droned on. How was it possible that the girl he knew so well as a child was now their prime suspect? She had been his best friend, stuck with him through thick and thin, yet here he was staring at a photo of her and not recognizing her in the slightest. He could see the evil in her eyes, but it had not been there when they were friends. Back then, he saw everything good in the world swimming in her smile, that was all gone now. He blamed himself for this, he did not fight hard enough for Ophelia's friendship, if he had, they might not be in this position.

Of course, it was not Ophelia's fault that Garcia had now found her, but rather Cat's. Cat had gotten a bit lazy while designing their M.O. and copied Darla's almost to the tee because she thought it made the most sense. This was, however, a detail that Cat never disclosed to Ophelia. It was the reason why she had insisted so adamantly that Ophelia had to leave, why she had been so worried that Spencer would catch them both. If anything happened to Ophelia, it would all be because of her mistake. While Cat did modify a few things, it clearly was not enough to keep the BAU from noticing the connection. Maybe prison really had damaged Cat's once perfect abilities, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

Spencer drew his eyes away from the screen and tried to hide his feelings of disappointment, but JJ always seemed to notice. She whispered into Spencer's ear, "Hey, Spence, what's wrong?"

He jumped, frightened by the nickname she used. She was the only one besides Ophelia that ever called him Spence, "Oh, it's nothing JJ, I just got worried for a moment, I thought I had forgotten to call the institution where my mom is staying to ask if I could visit her after the case. Nothing serious."

"Whatever you say, Spence, I'm always here to talk." JJ looked at Spencer worriedly and tried to take his explanation at face value, but she could tell that he was still hiding something, especially since he never forgets anything.

They wrapped up their briefing and Spencer remained quiet, worried about what to do. He was not close with Ophelia anymore, they had not spoken in over two decades, but a part of him wondered if he should excuse himself from the case. Eventually, he decided to stay on the case and not say anything to Hotch because it was just an old friendship. Ophelia did not have an eidetic memory like him and probably would not even remember him. Spencer found solace in this thought, essentially ignoring that he would have to arrest his only childhood friend.

When they landed in Los Angeles, Spencer thought of how ironic his situation was. He hoped that Ophelia's name coming up was just a false alarm, that they had pinned the case on the wrong unsub. But so far, all of the signs were pointing to her and they would definitely need her to cooperate to find her partner.

On their way to LAPD's headquarters, Spencer fidgeted with his hands, still debating telling Hotch about his relationship with Ophelia. He figured that it could go one of two ways: Hotch would kick him off of the case and berate him for not speaking up sooner, or he would be used as bait to extract an emotional response from Ophelia, that is if she remembered him at all. When they got to the station though, Spencer was immediately cut off by the Chief who insisted that he needed to give them a thirty-minute guided tour of the station.

He walked at an excruciatingly slow pace, slowed even further by his co-workers stopping them every few steps to ask about the case. They were shown the kitchen, the bathrooms, his office, the garage, and literally every room except for the one where they were supposed to set up. By the time that the tour was over, there was not even enough time for Reid to have a quick talk with Hotch. They were now twenty minutes behind schedule and had to grab everything from the cars and rush to set up their space. Prentiss and Reid worked together to set up the computers, connecting them to Garcia, while Rossi worked on printing and pinning physical copies of the crime scene reports and photos. Hotch and JJ were running between the cars and the conference room trying to get everyone's belongings inside as quickly as possible since it was beginning to rain and they would be unable to get their stuff out later without wetting it.

As soon as everyone was settled in, they jumped straight into working on their game plan, plotting how they would approach Ophelia. They figured that their best bet was to send one team to search the apartment, and another to search the house. Rossi, JJ, and Reid were being sent to the house, whereas Hotch and Prentiss were going to check the apartment. It was a solid plan and only took a few calls to execute. They had just arrived in LA and they were already on the verge of a breakthrough. It all seemed to be moving so quickly, too easily, and Spencer felt that they were being drawn into a trap of some kind. But since they were employing the help of a S.W.A.T. team, he figured that there was not much to worry about and carried along with the plan. In two hours Ophelia Sutton would no longer be a free woman, and she was not going to go down easily.


	6. Chapter 5: 3… 2… 1… Boom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of explosion, kidnapping, death, fire, and injury

Rossi decided to drive this time, JJ had to call Will and Spencer was in no condition– mentally– to drive today. He drove quickly and with expert precision, he did not want Ophelia to have a chance to even think about running away. As he drove, he sang along to ridiculous music from the seventies and cracked jokes about mother-daughter murder duos. Implying that he believed Ophelia's partner was actually her mother, and though unlikely, it was not an entirely baseless theory.

"Hey, Reid," Rossi snapped in front of Reid's face, "did you hear a word I said?"

Spencer looked sheepishly at the dashboard, "Uh, no. Sorry about that. What were you saying, Rossi?"

"Nevermind, kid. I'll just tell you on the way back. Try not to drool on the seats though, they're _leather_." Rossi joked about Reid's half-asleep behavior.

While Rossi enjoyed his ABBA, Spencer leaned his head against the window. He was trying to drown out the sounds of the music to hear what JJ was saying. It was not that he wanted to eavesdrop perse, but he overheard his name when JJ whisper-shouted it into the phone and could not help but wonder why he was brought up in conversation. Spencer was able to pick out short phrases and words like 'unstable', 'worried', and 'I don't know'. He felt embarrassed to an extent, wondering if their conversation still lingered on the topic of him, or if it had moved on and those words had nothing to do with him. Rossi, of course, was completely oblivious and did not even register that JJ was still on the phone.

They got to the house, the S.W.A.T. cars arriving shortly before them, and started prepping for their ambush. JJ got out of the car after Spencer and put her hand on his shoulder reassuringly, as she did this, however, the condescending look in her eyes only made him feel worse so he smiled and shrugged off her hand. He walked over to the leader of the S.W.A.T. and feigned confidence as he asked the leader to go over their plan once more.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Reid, can we all go over the plan one more time to make sure everyone knows what they're doing?"

"Hello, Dr. Reid, I'm Sargeant Bishop, I'm leading the team today. I will call everyone in for a quick rundown," he grabbed his walkie-talkie and spoke quietly into it, giving his team instructions to remain quiet and move quickly.

Soon, the entire S.W.A.T. team was surrounding Rossi, JJ, and Reid and awaiting Bishop's instruction, "Team A, you will be surrounding the posterior side of the house. Team B and C, you will be covering the roads. And Team D will come with me through the front. After we clear the house, you three," he motioned to the BAU agents, "can come in and do whatever you need to do."

"Thank you, Sergeant."

The teams moved quickly to surround the house, they got into their respective positions and began approaching the entrances. Teams A and D kicked down the doors, filling the house with over a dozen men. It felt like an eternity had passed before they called out 'CLEAR' to the rest of the agents outside and mentioning something about a hole in the ground. Spencer felt himself relax at the thought of not having to face Ophelia and took a moment to appreciate the feeling as Rossi and JJ approached the house.

Reid turned around to join them, but when he tried to approach the house, he could not move. He was laying on the ground now, struggling to breathe and comprehend what was happening. A wave of thick, hot smoke blew over him and he could smell burning flesh filling his nostrils. The smell was repulsive. He felt a ringing in his ear, preventing him from thinking properly or hearing anything. The sound surrounded him and he curled up on the ground, feeling helpless and pained. Spencer shut his eyes tightly and let a tear escape, clearing the dust that had accumulated around his eyes. Maybe their plan was not as good as they thought.

_Earlier That Day_

Ophelia stumbled around her house anxiously, not completely drunk, but not fully sober either. She landed in her study and crawled over to the furthest corner from the door. Once there, she yanked back the carpet and started tapping the floor with her hand, hoping to hear a hollow noise. As soon as she heard the noise she was searching for, she smiled, knowing that her memory had not yet betrayed her. Holding a hammer in her uninjured hand, Ophelia began hacking away at the wooden floor. Pieces of the bright wood flew everywhere, covering her clothing and hitting her skin. Soon, a small hole opened up beneath her and she pulled a little leather bag from it.

She sat down next to the hole and opened up the bag on her lap. Inside was a heavyweight, metal remote with only two buttons and a large pull-out antenna. Ophelia surveyed the contraption, holding it carefully.

When her house was built, she installed a large net of explosives beneath it in the case of a situation like the one she was in. It extended from the center of her home to fifty feet on either side, effectively destroying the roads in and out of the area. She had watched enough crime TV to know that that was where police, or in this case the FBI, would park if they ever came after her. Sometimes Cat would make fun of her for having such extensive precautions, but ultimately, she knew it was to protect them both.

With the remote now in her possession, Ophelia packed a small go-bag with what she could not leave behind. She filled it with some clothing, a few 'gadgets', toiletries, and a handful of memorabilia items. The first thing she grabbed– unconsciously– was the photo of her and Spencer. Though she could no longer remember his name sober, she still felt a strong connection to the photo. After that, she began grabbing more arbitrary things like her CD collection and the ticket from her and Cat's first date.

After her bag was full, she covered the hole with the carpet again. Ophelia strategically placed a few items around the house, including her phone and wallet before saying goodbye to the empty building. She walked quickly across the road, hearing the rumble of nearby cars already approaching her. Her feet moved carefully up and down the rocks as she climbed over the canyon's obstacles. In search of the perfect location which she had found a few years prior, Ophelia climbed with determination. She had already been climbing for three minutes when she reached the spot. It was a rocky little cavern that looked over her house. From the outside, it was impossible to see Ophelia crouched inside, but from the inside, she could see everything.

The cars arrived soon after and threw clouds of dust up into the air. Ophelia heard their car doors slamming and peeked her head out to see how the scene was progressing. A few non-S.W.A.T. people also seemed to be on the scene and Ophelia wondered who they were. From this height, it was quite difficult to see who was who, all she could tell was that aside from the S.W.A.T. team, there were two men in suits and one woman wearing business casual. Her eyes traveled around intently, watching as each S.W.A.T. officer spread out across her land. She smiled as they did exactly what she had predicted. These dumb cops were too predictable, they almost made Ophelia's little game feel boring. They stormed her house, obviously finding nothing more than what she had planted, and called out for the rest of the people to go inside. This was her chance.

She saw the FBI agents approaching her house and pressed the button. The remote control emitted a high-pitched beep and flashed a single red light for a split second. Immediately after, the house was reduced to rubble, ash, and fire. The cavern where she hid shook slightly at the explosion's aftershock and spilled a little bit of dust on her, but it stayed intact. Ophelia laughed at their stupidity– they did not even put up a fight– and began climbing down from her outlook. Her adrenaline and excitement sobered her up as she made her way down.

It happened to be much easier to climb down than it was to climb up, and she was thankful. She approached the scene nonchalantly, since everyone was either dead, unconscious, or severely injured and posed no threat to her. Ophelia sauntered around, observing the fruits of her labor, taking in the beauty of the scene she had created.

Soon, she came across Reid, still not recognizing him, but still very interested in him because one, he was very attractive; two, he was one of the FBI agents; three, he seemed to be the least injured. Ophelia nudged him with her foot and saw his eyes opening lazily. She smirked at the response and started to help him up. He was still so disoriented that he could not process the fact that Ophelia was the enemy here. Spencer allowed her to tie his hands together with some rope from her bag and carry him away from the scene.

The two of them walked across the rubble and around burnt bodies. They moved quickly, but Spencer's feet were only doing some of the work, Ophelia's strong arms did the most. They had been walking for nearly half an hour when Spencer finally regained enough of his consciousness to ask Ophelia a question, "What's happening?"

Ophelia chuckled at the drunken way he spoke, "Nothing much, we're just walking. We're almost there though. Don't worry, everything is okay."

"Oh, okay. Where exactly is 'there'?"

"You'll see, just be patient and stop talking, you'll make yourself more tired."

Spencer accepted the explanation gladly and continued to move along with Ophelia. If she had known he would be this cooperative, she would not have even bothered tying his hands up. They soon reached the car and Ophelia put Reid in the passenger seat, careful not to hit his head and damage his brain any further.

It was an old car, made before GPS's were even invented and she had bought it with cash, meaning that she did not have to worry about being tracked in the slightest. Ophelia grabbed a pack of wipes from her bag and began wiping away the grime that covered her face so no one would find her suspicious. She also took the time to wipe the dirt and dust that covered Spencer's face. As she carefully dragged the wipe across his skin, she heard him giggling like a child. Though she should not feel such sympathy for someone she was holding captive, his laughter sounded like music to her ears. She looked down at him and saw that he seemed extremely calm, something about her cleaning his face must have brought him comfort because his eyes were drifting closed and the smile on his face softened. By the time she had finished cleaning his face and neck, she felt almost guilty for having to wake him up, but his clothes were extremely dirty and had to be changed quickly.

She untied his hands and lifted his back from the seat gently before slipping his jacket off of his arms. When she went to unbutton his shirt, however, she hesitated. Ophelia spent her whole life preaching the importance of consent and care, so she could not remove someone's shirt while they were unconscious, it simply went against her beliefs... even if these were the same beliefs that permitted the killing of abusive men.

Ophelia raised her hand to his shoulder and shook him until his eyes opened once more.

"Hey, can you get undressed really quickly? You need to change," she paused to think of a good lie, "I don't want you to get my car seats dirty."

Spencer looked at her with a puzzled expression consistent with a foggy mind and agreed. He removed his shirt and pants with ease and handed them to Ophelia, "Do you have something else for me to wear? It's kind of cold here."

It was the middle of December and they were in the mountains so Spencer's grievance made sense, but Ophelia secretly did not want him to put a shirt back on, "Yeah, sorry. Here's some sweatpants and a T-shirt."

Ophelia pushed the clothes into his hands and shut the door quickly. When she got around to the driver's side, Spencer was already dressed again. She leaned over to buckle his seatbelt and slid a cable tie around his wrists to restrain him, just in case. Spencer looked up at her with doe eyes and seemed upset, possibly even betrayed, but he said nothing.

They drove in silence, leaving the metropolis of Los Angeles. As they approached San Bernardino, south of where they had been, Ophelia stopped to get some gasoline. She chose the gas station solely because it was old, run-down, and did not have any security cameras. While she was not planning on doing anything explicitly illegal there, she was fully aware that holding an FBI agent captive was frowned upon by the government and did not want to give herself up just yet.

She got back into the car, this time turning on the radio to ease her nerves, and got prepared to drive for another six and a half hours. Spencer slept most of the time and though she knew it probably was not a great idea since he likely had a concussion, she could not really do anything about it. Whenever he was not sleeping though, he looked up at the sky and quietly counted the clouds.

Ophelia appreciated the scenery surrounding them, taking in the orange landscape and blue sky. She never really had the opportunity to go on a road trip as a child and this escape plan of hers almost felt like one. Driving was an easy task for Ophelia and she always thoroughly enjoyed it, but it did surprise her how nice it felt to drive when no one was honking at her or rushing to get somewhere.

By the time they reached Ophelia's safe house in Sedona, the sky was already setting. It was probably the most beautiful thing Ophelia had ever seen, the purples, pinks, and oranges mixed together to form the most surreal scene she had ever witnessed. The setting was serene and she hoped all of her free nights could feel like this.

The safe house had been built three years ago under the radar. She knew a few people in the construction business who owed her some favors and since she was versed in civil engineering as well, she did not even need to hire anyone to design the house's floor plan. It had been left unused since they finished construction, but she still made sure that someone went over to clean the house once a month. Hopefully, when they went in, it would not be covered in dust.

Ophelia stopped her car outside of the large, brown building. It looked like any other Arizona home, but it had a few little secrets of its own. She got out and jogged over to the passenger's side, hauling Reid out of the car. Despite him being slightly more conscious now, he still did not resist any of Ophelia's actions.

They walked into the house which was luckily just as clean as she had hoped and went down the stairs to the basement which had cost her a lot of extra money to build. Down there, there was a medium-sized isolation chamber, resembling the design of a solitary confinement cell. She let Spencer inside of the chamber and closed the door while she searched for a pair of scissors to remove the zip tie around his wrists. Unfortunately, an unused house does not come with a lot of things in it, so she had to make do with a letter opener she found in a drawer.

She opened the cell and beckoned for Reid to come to the door, he did so eagerly and she cut off the tie. Ophelia immediately shut the door, slightly afraid that he would attempt an escape. On the wall next to the door there was a little intercom which she used to speak to him, "Hey, FBI guy, go to sleep, it's been a long day and you'll need your energy tomorrow."

"What's happening tomorrow?" Spencer asked innocently, but Ophelia thought it best not to respond so she walked upstairs in silence, leaving Spencer alone in the dark. 


	7. Chapter 6: What an Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Some aggressiveness, profanity, etc. nothing too bad… Maybe I should warn you that I'm scared this chapter makes no sense, please let me know if it doesn't make sense. Please.

Spencer was woken up with a series of loud bangs. Ophelia was standing outside of his ‘room’ and slamming a pan against the door. His body jolted into an upright position and he immediately covered his ears to drown out the noise, but she didn’t seem to be stopping any time soon. It was not until Spencer yelled out that she stopped the racket.

“WHERE THE HELL AM I?”

Ophelia dropped the pan onto the ground, causing even more noise before she opened up the door and peeked her head inside. Every word she said was filled with hints of honey and deceit, “You’re still with me, Ophelia, your soon-to-be least favorite person! We’ve got a big day ahead of us so wake up!”

When Ophelia approached Spencer today– at least after the fog in his mind cleared– he seemed to be much more aware, more afraid of the person in front of him. He cowered in the corner of the bed and Ophelia made a snarky remark about his reaction to her. “I thought you were supposed to be an FBI agent. Didn’t know they hired cowards nowadays.”

Spencer veered his eyes away from hers and hatred spilled off of every word. “I’m not scared of you. You don’t scare me.”

“Oh really?”

She pulled out a pair of handcuffs, twisting them in her hands as her knee pushed against Spencer’s chest. “Prove it then. Because right now you look like a scared baby hiding in that corner. Help me out, and we’ll see just how tough you really are, handsome.”

His head turned towards her and he practically spat at her. “I would rather die than help you, a killer.”

Spencer’s words sounded sincere and confident, but in reality, he was terrified and guilty. Even after everything they had been through together, after everything she had gotten him through before, he was refusing to help her. He did not want to be afraid either– the girl he knew as a child was sweet, caring, and innocent– but the woman that stood before him was callous and aggressive. Internally, he was stuck in a neverending conundrum, one which had him tearing apart the very structure of his moral standards. It seemed unfair that Spencer knew everything about Ophelia, both past and present, and yet she knew nothing about the new him. Granted, she did not recognize him since he had changed so much since high school, but they had still promised to be there for each other through everything, and Spencer didn’t like to break promises. Inside his mind, he resolved to help Ophelia, though not immediately. He was determined to put up a little fight and resist her, at least for a while, just so he could say he tried.

Ophelia had not liked what Spencer said, so she reached forward, pushing her knee further into his chest, and aggressively cuffed his wrists together.“That’s for talking back to me.”

He winced at the feeling of the metal slicing deeply into the skin of his wrists and let out a weak whimper, to which Ophelia chuckled. “Not so tough anymore are we, mystery agent?”

She grabbed the metal connecting the cuffs and lifted him by it, dragging him behind her. They went into another chamber, this one resembling an interrogation room, and she connected his cuffs to the table that sat in the center of the room. It was much colder in here. The metal seat was hard and unaccommodating while the table was just a bit too high up for Spencer’s arms to rest comfortably. It was as if everything had been expertly crafted to cause discomfort and break those who were being interrogated.

He sat in the chair awkwardly, his tall, lanky body cramped onto the small area of the seat. The shiny leather of his shoes squeaked against each other as he fidgeted around.

Spencer’s decision to try and work with Ophelia was growing more and more complicated to maintain by the second. How would it even be possible for him, an FBI agent, to make amends with someone like Ophelia, a killer? He wanted nothing more than to reconcile with her and lead her away from this life of crime that she had chosen, but every time she abused him, it became increasingly difficult to think about helping her.

What if she never remembered him? Would he be stuck here a prisoner until she discarded him? Would she even discard him? He could not help but wonder what he had gotten himself into. It was entirely possible that this entire situation could have been avoided if he had told Hotch about his prior relationship with Ophelia and asked to leave the case. Now, however, it was too late to know and the stakes were growing with every breath he took.

Ophelia left, leaving Spencer alone in the room with his anxiety-ridden thoughts. Soon she had climbed up a set of long, stone stairs and made her way into the ‘control room’. Here, Ophelia was able to keep a close eye on Spencer and modify the room’s climate.

With every minute that passed, she would turn the temperature dial a little bit lower and the wind speed a little bit higher. Initially, Spencer could not even tell the difference, but just before thirty minutes had passed, he was shivering in his seat.

“Hey! Ophelia! Can you please come back? It’s really cold in here, please!” He yelled towards the camera in the corner.

In the monitor, Ophelia could see him trying to bring his feet up onto the chair to warm himself up. His teeth chattered together and his frozen, numb limbs moved sluggishly. Spencer was exactly where she wanted him.

“Are you going to be a good boy? You gonna help me now?” Ophelia spoke into the intercom, mocking him and trying to get a positive response.

He pleaded with a desperate tone in his voice, “Fine! Fine! I’ll help you! Just turn up the temperature or bring me a blanket, please!”

She chuckled at how easy it had been to get him to agree with her. If he was really this weak, Ophelia would have no trouble breaking him to pieces. Within a minute, she had reverted the temperature and wind speed dials to their original positions. Ophelia grabbed a thin blanket for Spencer as she made her way to the interrogation room again. It most likely would not warm him up at all, but at least he would not be able to complain about her lying to him.

“Well then, let’s get started!” Ophelia slammed the door shut as she clapped her hands and threw herself down into the other chair, causing it to screech a bit as its metal feet slid across the concrete.

Spencer shut his eyes and cringed at the sound. “Ooooo, I’ve already found one of your weaknesses! This is going so well.”

“Yeah… So well.” Spencer muttered under his breath without Ophelia noticing.

“Oh, before I forget,” she threw the blanket at him and it fell onto the ground, where he was unable to retrieve it. “There’s your blanket.”

He looked at her in disbelief. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry, what was that? I don’t think I heard you.” She played dumb as she provoked him.

His words came out a bit louder this time.“Thanks.”

“I still can’t hear you, so bizarre. Did you say something?”

Spencer rolled his eyes and practically yelled at her.“Thank! You!”

“That’s better! Come on, tell me what you know. I did what you asked, now it’s my turn.” She wasted no time pestering him.

Spencer did not say a word.

Ophelia stood up and walked around him until she was on his left-hand side, “Come on, Mr. FBI, how’d ya find me? I thought I had covered my tracks so well.” She leaned down faking a pout and caressed his cheek.

He said nothing and looked away from Ophelia.

Her eyebrows furrowed together as she pulled her hand back and slapped him briskly. Ophelia winced slightly from the impact of her injured hand hitting his cheek, but immediately dismissed the pain. It was very obvious that Spencer was enraged yet he refrained from saying anything. She leaned down until her face was only inches from his, sensing the smallest amount of deja vu when her eyes landed upon his tousled, brown hair.

“I did my part. Now. Do. Yours.”

His eyes remained trained on the wall behind Ophelia.“I’m not talking. You killed nearly a dozen men.”

He quickly stole a glance in her direction and saw that she was still waiting for a response so he answered, “I’m not helping a serial killer.”

“But you _promised…_ I can’t believe you lied to me. Here I was, thinking that we could be friends,” she spoke dramatically. “Not even a little bit of help?”

Nothing.

In an attempt to get him talking, Ophelia spoke quietly and provokingly.“What’s the matter, hun? Cat got your tongue?”

Spencer remained silent and Ophelia laughed at her own joke before continuing, “Gosh, I always expected you FBI agents to be more interesting. But you’re just so… Boring.”

Spencer shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the shockingly personal attack she had made, “I–”

She cut him off and put her hand over his mouth before he could speak, “I know I said I wanted you to talk, but not now, it’s my turn. I’m so tired of you lying about what I do. It’s not like I murder people in cold blood, you fucking idiot! I _avenge_ people. I do this for all of the women who have no other option. I do this for all the men who get ridiculed because their husbands abuse them. I do this for the people who married violent sons of bitches and can’t get away. I do this for all of them. So before you criticize me, understand _why_ I do it.”

The bitterness that had been welling up inside of Reid dissipated as everything clicked together. Ophelia had never told him about her mother, but now it all made sense. The motive, the M.O., every last detail. He almost felt sympathetic towards her. Of course, he was still very annoyed with how dramatic she was, but it made more sense now.

“You’re going to help me, whether you like it or not.” Her hand now snaked its way down to his neck, holding his chin so that he was looking at her straight in the eyes. Every muscle in his body tensed as his breath hitched in his throat.

“I don’t care if it takes months or a year. You will be by my side.”

Spencer hid his reaction to what she had said and in an attempt to act tough, scowled at her. “You say all this, but what are we actually doing here? Huh? What the hell could you possibly get from me? I’m just an agent, I’m not special.”

There was a grain of truth to Reid’s words, and he hated it. He was trying to stay positive and keep his mind on track, but she made it so difficult for him to do so.

She leaned back, sitting on the table, and looked at him with a bored expression. Mimicking a bored schoolgirl, Ophelia twisted her hair around her fingers, “Well for starters, your name would be nice.”

He stopped for a second, looking down to think. “No.”

Ophelia got up again holding onto his shirt and pushing him back until he was practically suspended above the ground. “What. Is. Your. Name.”

This time, he spared not even a moment before responding honestly, “Reid. Spencer Reid.”

There was an awkward silence as Ophelia registered what he had said. She let go of him, racking her brain for every memory involving Spencer until she found them neatly tucked away in the depths of her mind.

“Oh shit!” Ophelia got up and left the room.

She paced outside in the hallway nervously, wondering what she should do. Spencer had once been her best friend and she had just slapped him and called him a coward. Briefly, she considered letting him go, but she realized that even if they were friends before, this version of Spencer was too novel for her to trust. Could she still hurt him to get information? Was that out of play now? She never intended to gravely injure him, but a bit of fear and pain had always been a successful method of extracting information. After a minute more of consideration, Ophelia chose to take the friendly route. Employing the benefits of Stockholm Syndrome to work in her favor and gain Spencer’s trust seemed like a perfect idea. If she planned out her moves well enough, she could probably get anything she wanted from him. She walked back in, composed and content.

The only problem was that she was not the only one with a plan.

“Go figure. That’s why I recognized your name the other day. ‘Germs’!” Ophelia acted as if she had never even left the room and Spencer cocked his head to see her. “Holy fuck! You know what, ‘Germs’, this is the best coincidence that has happened to me in a long time. I didn’t even recognize you! I can’t believe you finally grew into that big ass head of yours.”

Her demeanor had flipped entirely. Not even an hour ago she had been violent and aggressive, but now she held all the giddy joy of a toddler with a new toy. Spencer was suspicious of her but welcomed the hospitality gratefully.

Ophelia laughed out loud and Spencer rolled his eyes.“Yeah, Ophelia, I know. I was twelve back then though, what did you expect?”

“Damn, I was just trying to reconnect with my best friend, no need to be harsh,” she shook her head at him jokingly.

“Sorry, I’m just confused right now. So, how exactly did you hear my name the other day?”

“That’s not important, all you need to know is that I was very not-sober… Maybe you don’t even need to know that.” She laughed off the thought of Cat’s angered yelling.

“I’m honestly slightly disappointed that you admitted to hearing my name and didn’t even recognize it. All those years of friendship for nothing…”

“Well, even though we’re both geniuses, you always were the one with a good memory, Spence. I kind of fucked up my brain with a few too many parties. Plus, I didn’t have a face to put with the name back then, now I do.” She spoke towards the ground, now pretending to feel slightly vulnerable. She acted as if recognizing Spencer had incited compassion in her, but truthfully, she was just trying to convince him that he should trust her.

In Spencer’s mind, he had gotten lucky. He figured that he had at least a few hours to mentally prepare himself, but Ophelia had accidentally thrown herself into the deep end. He was a nice person though, and no matter how much he needed to take down Ophelia, he did not want to kick her while she was down.

“That’s true,” he chuckled at the thought of a teenaged Ophelia destroying her brain at one of MIT’s infamous parties. “You know, I actually went to MIT a few years after you left? I hoped that I would run into you there, but I guess you had already left Boston. It really upset me.”

She looked up at him incredulously. “Really? That’s the same reason that I went to California after I had enough money.”

A tear fell down her cheek as she laughed. She could be a good actress if she tried, but occasionally, she would mess up her facial expressions and it worked against her favor.

He looked at her with a puzzled look, assuming that she was just overwhelmed with emotion. “I thought you would have forgotten about me. You always were much more social than I was and way worse at remembering things.”

“Yeah, well I still have that photo of us at our first Science Olympiad competition. It’s upstairs.”

She smiled at him warmly. “Maybe I’ll go easy on you, ‘Germs’, for old-time’s sake. But the expectation still stands; you’re going to help me get out of this shit. Remember? ‘Nerds unite’. ”


	8. Chapter 7: Groundhog Day–Ophelia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of bodily harm, blood, manipulation, drugs (not super directly, but it is implied), etc.
> 
> Note: For all purposes of my plot, Spencer was never arrested nor imprisoned. I just chose Season 13-14 because of Cat and because Spence looked good ;) Also, this is part one of chapter 7. It is exclusively from Ophelia’s POV and part two will be from Spencer’s POV.

I laid back on the soft cushions of my couch, wondering what I could do to break Spencer. He trusted me now, after our extended catch-up session yesterday, I had the upper hand. I could make his mind my playground, manipulate every twist, turn, and dead-end. Maybe it was wrong to mess with a flimsy FBI agent’s mind when they’re already being held captive and have minor brain damage, but it was just so fun.

Spencer was incredibly vulnerable. He had no means of escaping, he had less physical strength than me, and he had more unresolved and internalized trauma than anyone I had ever met… well, Cat might be a strong contender. Nonetheless, I would break him, today, tomorrow, or next week.

My first idea was to make him re-live yesterday, as many times as it took for him to go crazy. In some respects, my plan was rudimentary, possibly so basic that it would not even dent the psyche of a hardened criminal, but Spencer was nowhere near hardened nor a criminal and his defenses were weak.

I grabbed a quick breakfast consisting of yogurt and granola from my barren kitchen before heading down to the basement. Those were quite literally the only things in the house besides some leftover pizza from last night and I made a mental note to buy some more groceries later. Taking advantage of the fact that I was still in the kitchen, I grabbed another pan and took it with me. While I pranced down the steps, I reviewed my plan once more.

All I had to do was mess with his perceptions of reality. He might be a criminal profiler, but he had never had his own mind examined by a criminal. I was so incredibly excited to test out my plan, that I nearly forgot to make it in the first place. So, here it is, in all of its crude glory:

  1. Wake Spencer up, aggressively if possible.

  2. Be meaner, maybe some more personal insults would do well.

  3. Cuff him to the table again.

  4. Let him freeze again… or I could turn up the AC, that might be fun to watch.

  5. Pretend like I don’t know him, violent interrogation will be my friend.

  6. Have him introduce himself and act like I’ve missed him!

  7. Rinse and repeat.




It seemed simple enough, all I had to do was go through a total replay of yesterday’s occurrences but turn up the intensity by a notch. I flipped the pan over in my hand a few times before gathering enough momentum to slam it harshly against the cell’s thick metal door. The sound rang through the basement, its vibrations bouncing off of every inch of exposed surface area and enveloping my ears. I thanked my own beautiful mind for soundproofing the walls. If I had not, my neighbors almost certainly would have heard the racket I was stirring up.

After a few more loud bangs on the door, I heard Spencer waking up, “WHAT THE HELL?! I THOUGHT WE WERE PAST THIS!”

I chuckled to myself, reveling in the innocence of his thoughts. I dropped the pan again, exactly as I had the day before, and greeted Spencer curtly from the doorway. “You should be kinder to your host. After all, I am the one paying for the bed you’re sleeping in and could easily throw you out to dry up in the desert. You wouldn’t last a day, moron.”

“I– What are you talking about? I just thought that after yesterday, you would be less aggressive,” he seemed genuinely confused.

I spoke confidently and firmly, “I haven’t the slightest idea as to what you’re talking about. Stop talking nonsense and get out of bed so we can get started. We have a long day ahead of us.”

Spencer knit his eyebrows together tightly, seemingly recalling something from his extensive memory bank, “You said you would go easy, we caught up last night. I thought we were on good terms again.”

“Did you hit your head? What the fuck are you talking about, you fucking worm?” I finally entered the room and bent down to pick up Spencer by his shirt collar. Internally I was about to burst out in laughter, I had no idea why I called him a worm, but I had to remain composed so he would not see through my façade.

“Stop fucking around and let’s go.”

“F–fine. Fine. I’m going, just let me put on my socks again.” His hands trembled as he pulled his socks on. One was a dark grey and the other a light blue.

“How the hell did you manage to mix up your sock colors? I literally gave you matching pairs of socks, fucking dumbass.”

Reid looked up from his socks innocently, “I just switched them around, it’s good luck.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re definitely gonna be needing that luck.” I let out a slightly maniacal chuckle, hoping to scare Spencer a bit and intimidate him.

Once he finally got his socks on, I pulled out the handcuffs from my pockets and leaned my knee against his chest, reenacting yesterday’s event’s to a tee. “Give me your hands.”

He offered his wrists to me reluctantly and slowly. Without even thinking, I reached down and yanked his arms up to my level. I could have sworn that I heard a pop when I pulled his hands, but I ignored it as I tightened the metal restraints. Once again he was wincing as the metal created deep, red marks on his wrists. I laughed at his reaction, “Man up, Mr. FBI, stop being such a wimp. My three-year-old neighbor could handle more pain than you.”

He huffed, defeated by the power of my position and the neverending stream of subtle insults I was delivering, “Sorry, I’m ready to go now.”

“Come on, princess, I’m gonna have a lot of fun with you today,” I yanked him up by the metal chain that connected his hands and his body lurched forwards. He moved like a dried up worm on the sidewalk, maybe my worm insult was not that misplaced after all.

When we got to the interrogation room today, it was perfectly arranged as if it had never been occupied before. I could see the confusion stirring up in his mind. I had decided to add to his confusion even further by replacing the chair he sat on the day before with one that was an inch and a half shorter. To most people, that height difference would not make much of a difference, but Spencer’s long legs and boney arms would feel it.

After cuffing him to the table in the center of the room, I lingered around a bit. I was not quite sure why I chose to do so, yet every move I made felt like it had been planned out so I went along with it. My back rested against the one-way glass on the wall across from him and my eyes were intently focused on the way his lips parted ever so slightly as he breathed.

I had never felt any sort of attraction to Spencer before, but now something about him entranced me. I figured it might just be some kind of psychological phenomenon, we went on a six-hour road trip– though he went against his will–, I had seen him semi-nude multiple times, and I planned every move of mine around Spencer. Something was bound to spark eventually.

Even now, so vulnerable and distressed, Spencer looked beautiful. From the way that his messy, brown hair curled to the rapid fidgeting of his fingers, I was mesmerized. I feared that he would sense the lust in my gaze and break through the front I was putting up so I averted my eyes, instead choosing to focus on the clean floor beneath my feet.

I stole a glance in his direction and saw him staring intently at me, could it be possible that he felt the same way about me? The thought escaped my mind just as quickly as it entered when he spoke timidly, “So, what are we doing today? You said I would need my luck, I’m waiting.”

“Did you really think I’d just jump to the chase like that? No, it’s all a game, darling. You wait your turn, play your angle, and then maybe you’ll win.” The timing was perfect for me to leave.

I walked towards the door and slowed for a moment when I passed Spencer, holding my breath. I rested my hand on his shoulder lightly and squeezed, letting my touch linger warmly on his covered skin. His shuddering breath shook through his body and into my fingertips which soon fell away from him. I left the room, stopping to catch my breath and recover from how different his skin felt today compared to the days before.

Aggressively, I shook my head to get rid of those thoughts and walked up the stairs and into the control room again. I was supposed to be the one in his head, but somehow I accidentally let him into mine and he did not even know it. I threw myself onto the office chair inside and watched him fiddle with his fingers. He shifted around in his seat uncomfortably, trying to stretch out his legs and prop his arms onto the tall tabletop.

Eventually, I started turning the temperature up, degree by degree, until I could see the sweat glimmering above his furrowed brow. His shirt began growing darker as sweat accumulated in the fabric’s threads. I saw him try to stand up in an attempt to save his sweatpant-clad legs from dripping in sweat. But the table prevented him from standing up straight and his back curved awkwardly as his hands lay stuck to the table. It became obvious that his plan had failed when I saw the dark patches of black taking over his grey shirt. Spencer flopped down onto the seat, defeated, and threw his head back panting. Not too long after, he started removing his socks. First the blue one, then the grey one. His luck had ended and it was time to make my move.

I returned to the interrogation room and peeked my head inside, “It seems that your luck has ended, handsome.”

“Wha–” He turned to me and I saw fear and confusion running rampant in every crease of his face.

“Don’t worry, you’ll see soon enough. Just sit tight and I’ll be right back.” I winked at him and slammed the door shut.

Hot damn, it really was unbearably hot in there. Luckily, he had not seen what I was wearing and I still had a chance to change. I ran upstairs to my room and quickly threw on a pair of running shorts and a skimpy tank top. If the heat did not get to him, maybe the low neckline would.

I returned to the basement and grabbed a few handy interrogation items. A little dagger, blindfold, and a simple contraption of her own creation. The dagger was small and silver, handcrafted by a colleague of mine at MIT as a graduation gift. Its handle was light and carefully engraved with some of my favorite quotes:

“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.”

“Physics is like sex: sure, it may give some practical results, but that's not why we do it.”

“I'm sure the universe is full of intelligent life. It's just been too intelligent to come here.”

“Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.”

And so on… these are the quotes that got me through school and life unscathed. I owe everything to the scientists who came before me, though they may have disagreed with my choice of employment, they would have understood why it was so important to me.

The blindfold, on the other hand, was just plain, black cotton. My specialty tool, however, was just as intricate as the dagger.

It looked like a simple collar from afar, but upon closer examination, it was a metal collar that featured blunt metal rods. The rods each pinpointed a specific area of the neck, disturbing circulation, interfering with the wearer’s airways, or provoking a relatively painful and debilitating area of the spine. I did not like to use the ‘spine spike’ very often though, it was much too risky and occasionally left the user with mild paralysis or persistent nerve damage. Because of its temperamental nature, I removed the spike, not wanting to accidentally leave Spencer with any long-lasting injuries if I opted to use the collar.

I placed the three items inside of a black leather briefcase, which I found to look quite intimidating, and entered the interrogation room where Spencer was still waiting and sweating. I knew my outfit did not look cohesive in the slightest, especially with the briefcase, but I had to make do with what I had. I ruffled my hand in his hair playfully when I passed him and slammed the briefcase on the metal table.

Spencer jumped back at the sudden noise, “Uhhhh, Ophelia, what is that?”

His voice trembled and his eyes were open wide. He was already broken and I had barely even started, this was going to be too easy.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I smirked at him evilly and turned the briefcase so it faced me on the other side of the table. I unlatched the closures slowly, creating such tantalizing suspense that I could hear every breath that Spencer took.

My hand first reached towards the blindfold, playing with it in my hands as Spencer watched. He gulped loudly, his throat dry from the heat and fear. “Don’t worry, I won’t _kill_ you, that wouldn’t be any fun.”

“K–kill me?” He spoke in a shaking, high-pitched voice.

I walked slowly until I was standing behind him and he was looking at us both in the mirror, “Why are you so worried? I said I _wouldn’t_ kill you.”

My hands were perched on his shoulders as I said this and I laughed briefly when I saw him tense up. I pulled the blindfold around his head, carefully tying it behind his soft, brown hair. Spencer’s breath stopped momentarily as he tried to cope with his loss of vision.

My right hand drifted down his arm slowly and his head moved around frantically as if he wanted to know where I was. When my hand reached his, I gave it a quick squeeze and let go so I could retrieve my other supplies from my briefcase. I debated between using the dagger or the collar first and opted for the dagger, it was much more fun to be close to Spencer.

I picked it up and twirled it as I walked over to where Spencer sat. The back of my legs rested on the table while I spoke. “So, how’d ya find me, Mr. FBI?”

“I–I don’t know, I don’t think I can answer that question.” Sweat fell from his hairline and soaked the blindfold, he was growing more and more uncomfortable by the second.

I brought the dagger up to his shirt and cut open a few inches until his chest was slightly exposed and he shivered under my touch. “You sure about that?”

Spencer nodded his head rapidly, but I knew he was lying, after all, he had told me all about Hotch and Garcia yesterday. So I wondered why he would lie to me today. I lowered the dagger to his skin, tracing the sharp edge against his shiny skin. He froze, not moving or even breathing when he felt the blade draw its first drops of blood. The once pristine blade was now coated in a thin coat of the metallic-smelling, deep red liquid that flowed from his skin.

I smiled at my success, “Would you like to reconsider?”

He paused as a tear ran down his cheek, “I don’t know. I swear I don’t know.”

“Why are you lying to me? I know you’re lying and your tears aren’t going to deter me.”

His words came our quiet, jumbled, and quickly as he shook in his seat. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Gosh, he really was easy to break. I did not even have to use the collar to reduce him to tears and despair. He was too unstable to continue with step five so I moved onto six, “Okay, fine, I get it. You don’t know. Is there anything you do know? Like your name maybe? Anything?”

The corners of his lips turned up and he grinned, “Spencer Reid!”

“Wait? As in Spencer Reid from Las Vegas, Nevada?” I feigned disbelief and surprise.

His words glimmered with hope, “Yeah! Ophelia, it’s me, we’re friends, remember?”

“Oh my gosh, it’s little ‘Germs’! Holy shit, I haven’t seen you in ages, kid. You changed so much that I didn’t even recognize you.”

“I know, it’s been over twenty years, I was too scared to say anything, but it’s me.”

I pulled the blindfold off of his head, moving my hand to caress his cheek but he flinched slightly. My voice changed to reflect sincerity and reprehension, “Spencer, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was you. If I had known… you should have said something.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know. I trust you, Ophelia, you would never hurt me.”

He was being very irrational compared to his usual, logical self, but I appreciated it. I buried my head in my hands, pretending to be in distress. Soon, I felt Spencer’s hand struggling to reach my arm. It was clear that he wanted to comfort me, but the handcuffs impaired his range of movement.

“I’m so sorry. I–I never meant for this to happen.” I modified my breathing temporarily so that it sounded as though I was about to cry.

“It’s okay…”

I wiped away my imaginary tears which were concealed by the sweat that also covered my face and took a deep breath in before standing up. “Here, let me take those handcuffs off.”

He rubbed his wrists as soon as they were freed and thanked me. I glanced down at him and saw that his chest was still bleeding lightly. “Oh shit, I forgot about the cut. I’ll be right back to take care of that.”

I put all of my ‘supplies’ back into the briefcase before locking it and running out of the room, trying to remember where I had left my first-aid kit. I eventually found it in the upstairs bathroom and stopped to catch my breath. The whole time that I was pretending to reconcile with Spencer, I barely breathed. He was already weak and slightly delusional, but I always was a bit paranoid about getting caught.

My hands gripped the kit firmly as I returned to the room where Spencer was waiting for me and prayed that he would still be as gentle as he had been when I left. I opened the door slowly and saw him sitting in his chair, right where I had left him. The briefcase was still closed and the coast was clear, Spencer was still docile.

“Hey, Spence, I’m back.” I held up the first-aid kit and smiled at him, he returned an equally goofy grin.

“Ophelia! That was quick.”

“Yep, I’m pretty efficient.”

I set down the first aid kit on the ground and kneeled between his knees while gathering what I would need to patch him up. Iodine, gauze, tape, cotton balls, and a small piece of plastic. It was a shallow cut, but I wanted him to feel cared for, vulnerable.

I threw a little bit of iodine onto the cut, spreading it with a small piece of cotton, and waited for it to dry. He looked down to see what I was doing and his nose was only inches away from mine. Keeping my cool, I continued working, placing the gauze and plastic over his cut before securing them with plastic and lightly smoothing it over with my fingers.

“Hi…” Spence whispered down to me and his hot breath fanned over my face.

I turned my head up and looked into his eyes, seeing nothing but lust. He craned his neck down even further, closing the space between us. His lips were soft and his movements slow. I felt us getting closer with every moment that passed, our lips moving in perfect sync with each other. The intoxicating smell of his skin filled my nose, taking me by surprise, but I knew I had to keep my mind clear.

My hand moved around blindly looking for a short syringe inside the kit. Eventually, I found it, using the tips of my fingers to roll it closer to me until I could grab it. I did my best to make sure that Spencer could not feel me moving around as he kissed me. As wonderful as it felt to finally kiss him, I could not let myself lose sight of the bigger picture. I popped off the cap, quietly letting it drop to the floor. His right hand snaked around my back, moving to my waist and pulling me closer. This was my chance.

I jammed the needle into his thigh, pushing down on the plunger as Spencer pulled back in shock. His eyes opened wide, his face covered in confusion once more, and then he was out like a light. His body fell forward onto me and I pushed him back so I could stand up. Grabbing his arms, I carried him back to his room.

I needed to continue my plan again tomorrow, so I grabbed a pack of body wipes and a clean pair of the exact clothes he had worn today. Carefully, I undressed him, leaving him in only his boxers, and bathed him with the wipes. After I had dressed him once more, I tucked him into the bed and placed another pair of mismatched socks beside his bed in the same spot they had been this morning.

Pleased with my work today, I locked his door and returned upstairs to my kitchen to prepare for the next day. I was writing in my notebook when I called my in-town friend on the landline, asking asked him to bring me some groceries and liquor. Since I was going to relive the same day every day, I might as well make the most of it and treat myself to a drink after. And if all went well, I would have a loyal, pliable boyfriend and possibly a new partner in crime. There was nothing more that I could ask for.


	9. Chapter 7: Groundhog Day– Spencer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings as the previous chapter.   
> This was probably one of the most difficult things I have ever written so please let me know if there are any inconsistencies or if you have any constructive criticism.   
> Lastly, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy!

I was sleeping deeply, swaddled in the comfort of my dreams when I heard a series of loud bangs outside of my door. My mind churned as I struggled to form a cohesive series of thoughts. We had gotten along together so well yesterday so why was it that Ophelia still felt the need to wake me up in such a crude manner. The ceaseless racket that she was stirring up outside broke through my concentration and planted a painful headache in my mind.

“WHAT THE HELL?! I THOUGHT WE WERE PAST THIS!” I yelled out to her, not trying to be mean or anything, but I just could not stand the constant perturbances.

She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, her eyes had changed. I could see the devil in them again, it was like everything that happened yesterday had only happened to waste my time, energy, and hope.

“You should be kinder to your host. After all, I am the one paying for the bed you’re sleeping in and could easily throw you out to dry up in the desert. You wouldn’t last a day, moron.”

I was taken back by her words. My yelling had been merely a statement intended to stop the commotion she created, nothing more. But even the insinuation that she might leave me to die in the desert was enough to scare me. I wanted to love Ophelia, I really did, but some aspects of her genuinely frightened me.

“I– What are you talking about? I just thought that after yesterday, you would be less aggressive,” I tried my best to convey the betrayal and confusion that I was feeling and for a second I could have sworn she understood me.

Her reply, however, confused me even further, “I haven’t the slightest idea as to what you’re talking about. Stop talking nonsense and get out of bed so we can get started. We have a long day ahead of us.”

What kind of mind games was she trying to play? What was she getting at? There I was, vulnerable and distressed, while she picked away at every ounce of hope I had left. It grew more challenging for me to understand her by the minute. Though I may have gotten a peek into her mind yesterday, I was now certain that I had only scratched the surface.

“You said you would go easy on me. We caught up last night. I thought we were on good terms again.”

“Did you hit your head? What the fuck are you talking about, you fucking worm?”

Ophelia walked closer to me and I tried to retreat, but she was in control before I could protest. Her hand connected with the fabric of my shirt and she lifted me by it as I felt it stretch uncomfortably.

“Stop fucking around and let’s go.”

I struggled to find the words to express my submission as she pulled me closer to her face, “F–fine. Fine. I’m going, just let me put on my socks again.”

My hands flew around blindly trying to find my socks when she released me. Eventually, I found a grey sock and a blue one, sliding them onto my feet with trembling hands.

“How the hell did you manage to mix up your sock colors? I literally gave you matching pairs of socks, fucking dumbass.”

While I tried to ignore most of her insults, this one hurt me deeply. The tradition was one that my grandmother had taught me about as a child. It was one of the only memories I had with her and I would rather die than let Ophelia shame me for doing it. Especially with her unpredictable temper, luck was something I could not waste or forgo.

“I just switched them around, it’s good luck.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re definitely gonna be needing that luck.”

Her maniacal laugh filled my ears up and sent shivers down my spine as I pulled the second sock up to my calf. I was already expecting the worst from her, but after that, I was not so sure my expectations were gruesome enough to match her plans.

“Give me your hands.”

She did not even give me enough time to react to her request before jamming her pointy knee into my sternum and retrieving a pair of handcuffs from her pocket. My mind struggled to process the overwhelming sense of Deja Vu that I was feeling at that moment. After a few moments, my thoughts caught up and I offered my arms to Ophelia shyly.

I had tried to be as inoffensive as possible with my actions, but I guess she must have perceived it differently because soon she was yanking my arms up to her level. As she pulled my hands closer to her, I felt my shoulder pop slightly, sending shooting pain down my arm. It took all of my strength to not react to the injury. It was much too early on in the day for me to show weakness. I was going to put up a fight for as long as I could, even if that was only a few minutes.

But as soon as she closed the cuffs around my wrists, I winced. The combined pain of my wrists and shoulders being abused was just enough to draw a reaction from me and I knew she had noticed immediately. She laughed at me, probably thinking about how weak I was.

“Man up, Mr. FBI, stop being such a wimp. My three-year-old neighbor could handle more pain than you.”

There it was, the not so subtle jab that lowered my self-confidence until I was vulnerable. I wanted to hide my emotions, but with all of the turmoil that churned in my mind and the salt she was rubbing into fresh wounds, I could not help but mutter my disappointment. Luckily, I was quiet enough that Ophelia thought that I was just sighing and did not take offense.

I looked up to face her, “Sorry, I’m ready to go now.”

“Come on, princess, I’m gonna have a lot of fun with you today,” she dragged me by the handcuffs and I struggled to keep up with her, still only half-awake and tired.

She plopped me down onto the same chair I had sat in yesterday but it felt slightly off. It was less comfortable than it had been before, not that it had been comfortable in the first place. Ophelia dragged my arms aggressively to the table to restrain me. I really needed her to stop doing that or soon I would end up with a dislocated shoulder and I certainly would not want that.

I sat there motionless for the most part, every once in a while I would have to shift a bit to keep my arms from going numb. While I was not certain of my theory, I suspected that either the table or my chair had changed. Yesterday I had not struggled so much to keep my hands red and feeling, but today they were easily turning white and tingly with the awkward angle that had been created. I had no choice but to accept the discomfort.

A part of me wondered if yesterday had even been ‘yesterday’ at all. It was entirely possible that I had dreamt the whole thing. Made up elaborate scenarios in my mind based on what I had seen of the house already and taken it as truth. My familiarity with the interrogation room could just as easily be construed as faulty storage of short term memory.

Who was I to know? Based on what I am almost certain is a real memory, I had a concussion. If that was the truth, then I doubt that my memories would be feeling normal anytime soon. Maybe it would be in my best interest to accept each day as a dream. To protect my consciousness and subconsciousness.

I kept my eyes trained on my hands as I considered my hypothesis but I could feel Ophelia’s ardent stare penetrating my mind’s walls. And while I had no idea what thoughts were running through my mind, I felt as though _she_ did. Fearing that she was plotting something, I stole a glance in her direction. Ophelia’s eyes immediately darted towards the ground and my curiosity grew ten times stronger.

What twisted thoughts occupied her mind? Was she thinking about how to dispose of my body? How she wanted to kill me? How she wanted to traumatize me even further?

I opted to use the last of my wit to get her attention back. “So, what are we doing today? You said I would need my luck, I’m waiting.”

“Did you really think I’d just jump to the chase like that? No, it’s all a game, darling. You wait your turn, play your angle, and then maybe you’ll win.”

Ophelia walked towards me, slowly, like a lion waiting to pounce on her prey. Her eyes were fixated on me and it seemed like time stopped when she touched my shoulder. I felt vulnerable. Frightened. I could have sworn that she stole a sultry wink in my direction and I felt my heart flutter. Why was my mind betraying me like this? I did not want that tingle on my skin to go away, but at the same time, I knew that I should not be feeling this way about a woman whose hobby is murder.

I was unable to tell if it was her touch or her words that had me shaking. All I knew was that she had planned for my reaction and I gave her exactly what she wanted.

I castigated myself, angry at how I let her mess with my mind. For all I knew, I could still be dreaming or in a coma. Why else would Ophelia be reenacting yesterday and flirting with me? Why else? She hated me.

She did, didn’t she?

Ophelia left the room and while the soundproof walls of her house were practically iron-clad, I could still feel the vibrations of her movement as she ran up the stairs. I stared at the smooth ceiling for nearly five minutes trying to hear her steps but soon became bored and began counting the stones that lined the rough walls of the room.

It was a strange design choice for sure. I knew that we were in Arizona, but I would never have expected someone as smart as Ophelia to use a soft rock like sandstone to build an interrogation room. Though, I assumed that she must have included some other more resistant material behind the stone. There were little mounds of dust lining the floor, the house must have been so new that some of the dust still fell off when Ophelia went up and down the stairs.

I sat patiently in my chair, hoping that she would return soon today. Though I was anxious for the day to end so that I could return to bed, I was not looking forward to the cold again.

Anxious to know what lay in store for me, I fiddled with my hands, using each of my knuckles to help me keep track of the stones on the wall. I bounced my legs, hoping that some kind of movement might relieve the pins and needles. I had counted sixty-two stones when I began noticing a light layer of sweat accumulating on the surface of my skin. The neck of my shirt suddenly felt tighter and the air much thicker.

Now the real question was: Had I dreamt of the cold or was the heat a method of tricking me?

Had Ophelia planned to fluctuate the temperature daily so that I would not know what day was which or what was real or my imagination? There were so many variables that I could not account for and I felt helpless knowing this.

My thoughts began melding together, the distinction between each idea growing more convoluted by the second. I could vaguely understand why I felt this way, but I did not know what to do. Ophelia had not given me anything to eat since the first day. I was starving and dehydrated. The heat that was building up around me did not help either.

Suddenly a pang of hunger exploded in my stomach and I knew that my malnourishment was to blame. I felt sweat dripping from my hairline and down to my neck, soon even taking over my entire back. My breaths grew shallow and my mouth dried up.

I tried to straighten my body and stand up, but my attempts at comfort were hindered by the handcuffs. Defeated, I sat down again and leaned back, trying to stretch my body and ease my breathing. My lungs struggled to take in the hot air and my vision blurred slightly.

All I wanted was to relieve myself of the heat, but the garments on my body only made it worse. My shirt had been practically soaked through and the rest of my clothes were not far behind. In a futile attempt to cool me down, I slipped off my socks. The relief was quick but temporary.

I closed my eyes, tilting my head towards the ceiling again and a creak broke through the silence, “It seems that your luck has ended, handsome.”

Ophelia’s once demonic voice sounded so angelic that it surprised me, “Wha–”

I turned to face her and in my mind, I was ecstatic to see her but my facial expressions could not keep up with my thoughts. I felt my forehead creasing and eyes squinting, indicating confusion or disgust, in actuality, however, I could not be happier.

“Don’t worry, you’ll see soon enough. Just sit tight and I’ll be right back.” My heart smiled when she winked.

It felt as if I were floating in a dream. My limbs felt nothing besides the heat fanning onto them, I was losing my touch with reality.

I was certain that only moments had passed when she came back in, but somehow it also felt as if I had waited a whole day for her to return. The sudden noise of her slamming the briefcase on the table in front of me brought me back to the present.

I croaked, struggling to speak with my dry throat. “Uhhhh, Ophelia, what is that?”

I opened my eyes wide to try to see the black blob better, but my eyesight was deteriorating as my existence crumbled. Ophelia was sporting a sinister look upon her face and I could not understand what it meant.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Ophelia spoke with a low voice and clicked open the case’s closures slowly.

Of course, I wanted to know what lay inside, but knowing Ophelia– or assuming the worst– it would not be anything good. I was praying that there would just be a bottle of water inside. That was all I wanted.

She played with a blindfold in her hands and stared me down, under her gaze I lost control of my body and gulped loudly. She heard me.

“Don’t worry, I won’t _kill_ you, that wouldn’t be any fun.”

I could not comprehend the words that I heard so I asked tentatively, “K–kill me?”

Ophelia smiled back at me with vile drops of poison dripping from her mouth… or maybe that was just sweat. I was too spaced out to tell. She walked behind me and my mind could not grasp that I could no longer see her in front of me, but that I could still see her behind me in the mirror.

“Why are you so worried? I said I _wouldn’t_ kill you.”

This talk of murder along with the complexity of mirrors baffled me. The mental toll of it grew to be so much that even my breathing stopped for a moment. But when I felt Ophelia cover my eyes and my vision finally left me, I relaxed. The loss of such a vital sense should have scared me, yet its departure soothed me. I no longer needed to worry about seeing and my energy could now be used on my other senses.

Ophelia’s hand slithered down my arm and I could feel her touch throughout my entire body. Though I could feel her grip on me very clearly, the primitive side of my mind still wanted to know where she was and my head turned every which way in search of her. I guess I must have subconsciously forgotten that I had a blindfold on. Suddenly her fingers reached mine and I felt her squeeze my hand, I wondered why she would do that, but nothing made sense today anyway.

I sensed her hand retreating and soon heard the clatter of objects as she dug into what I assumed was her briefcase. Her footsteps approached me again and I felt myself overheating. This time, I could hear a subtle whir of a blade cutting through the air every few moments. Was it a fan that she held, or was it a knife of some sort? There was only one way that I could find out and I was not anticipating it.

“So, how’d ya find me, Mr. FBI?”

Her voice brought blood rushing to my cheeks in embarrassment. “I–I don’t know, I don’t think I can answer that question.”

As much as I wanted to give a good response, the inside of my mind now resembled a labyrinth that even I could not navigate. I racked my dull brain in search of an answer but I could not seem to find it anywhere. I was uncomfortable with how useless my mind had become. According to everyone, I was supposed to be a genius, now I was nothing more than a dumb nobody.

“You sure about that?”

Sweat dripped down into the blindfold and stung my eyes. I tried to come up with a better reply this time. I tried. Apparently, Ophelia was not in the mood for patience or grace today because the next thing I knew, a sharp knife-like object was piercing its way through my shirt.

Ophelia dragged its blade along my chest. She was so close to my heart that I became even too frightened to breathe. I could not go out like this. Not cowering in a crappy metal chair in some basement in Arizona. This was not going to be the end for me.

Then I felt it pierce my skin. Maybe this actually was the end. My blood fell onto the blade and I was thankful for my dazed state. If I had been fully conscious, I would have yelled, kicked, and cried from the pain, still, I could feel nothing more than the warmth of my own blood dripping down my skin.

“Would you like to reconsider?”

I wanted to be strong but knowing that blood was escaping from my already weakened body was disheartening and I allowed myself to shed a single tear. I had no answer. I had no idea what she was even talking about. My memory barely went far back enough to remember what she had said just now. I was probably only a few minutes away from passing out– my limbs grew lighter and my eyes heavier– there was no use in even trying to cooperate.

“I don’t know. I swear I don’t know.”

“Why are you lying to me? I know you’re lying and your tears aren’t going to deter me.”

There was nothing left for me to say. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

The words lost their meaning as more tears escaped my eyes. I thought she would have given up by then, but quitting has never been a part of Ophelia’s vocabulary, that much I was sure of. “Okay, fine, I get it. You don’t know. Is there anything you do know? Like your name maybe? Anything?”

“Spencer Reid!” Finally, something that I could say with confidence.

“Wait? As in Spencer Reid from Las Vegas, Nevada?”

I was shocked. Ophelia did not know it was me, could I really have imagined everything about 'yesterday'? I pushed a bit further, hoping that I could gain some sympathy from her. “Yeah! Ophelia, it’s me, we’re friends, remember?”

“Oh my gosh, it’s little ‘Germs’! Holy shit, I haven’t seen you in ages, kid. You changed so much that I didn’t even recognize you.” She remembered and I smiled at the nickname. The sound of it blessed my ears despite the slightly embarrassing memories that it carried.

“I know, it’s been over twenty years, I was too scared to say anything, but it’s me.” The truth was more complicated than that, but frankly, that was all that I could manage to say as my body grew weaker and weaker.

She pulled the blindfold off of my head and I blinked rapidly, trying to accustom my eyes to the room’s brightness again. While I could surely see better now than I could with the blindfold on, there were still black spots dotting nearly every corner of my vision. I noticed her hand moving up to my face and instinctively flinched.

She looked apologetic and spoke quietly to me, “Spencer, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was you. If I had known… you should have said something.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know. I trust you, Ophelia, you would never hurt me.” I had no idea what I was saying. I prayed that my words reflected the truth, but at this point, I was just grasping at threads.

When I saw her bury her face in her hands reprehensively, however, I was assured that I had made the proper judgment call. I tried to reach over and comfort her, only prevented from doing so by the chains that still held my hands to the table.

“I’m so sorry. I– I never meant for this to happen.” Ophelia’s breath faltered and I thought I could hear her crying quietly from beneath her hands.

I tried to comfort her again. “It’s okay…”

She got up, wiping away her tears, and approached me, “Here, let me take those handcuffs off.”

“Thank you, Ophelia.” The relief that I felt when I was released was unparalleled and I forgot about everything else for a moment.

“Oh shit, I forgot about the cut. I’ll be right back to take care of that.”

She quickly stuffed the knife and blindfold back into her case and ran out. I assumed that she locked it out of fear that I would try to steal something from her, but she underestimated just how frail I was. I could barely see and I had almost no control over my motor functions, I posed no threat to her or anyone.

“Hey, Spence, I’m back.” When she returned I noticed that she was relieved that I had not moved. I was almost proud of myself for meeting her expectations and gave her a silly grin.

“Ophelia! That was quick.”

“Yep, I’m pretty efficient.”

Ophelia positioned herself between my legs and dug through her first-aid kit. I saw her grabbing all sorts of different items but they all looked the same from where I sat. She cleaned my wound gently and I looked down to see what exactly she was doing, I could not help but notice how close that our faces were. She was so quick and efficient that before I could even ask what she was doing, she had already bandaged my cut.

She might have been a criminal but she was a damn beautiful one at that. I was so delirious that her proximity to me triggered something deep inside of my subconscious.

“Hi…” I spoke in a singsong voice, wanting to get her attention.

Ophelia looked up at me and I did something that I had been wanting to do since the first time I saw her. I leaned down and kissed her. It took everything in me to move my lips against hers and kiss her back with the same energy that she brought.

My lethargic movements actually worked in my favor this time. Rather than showing how excited and anxious that I was, my lack of power channeled sensual energy instead. Her kisses felt just like I had imagined, soft and sweet. I felt as if I was on cloud nine and I only wanted more. My hand wrapped itself around her back and pulled her closer to me, not wanting to let go of the magical feeling.

A sharp pain emerged in my thigh suddenly and split through my thoughts. I looked down at Ophelia with pleading eyes. Then everything went bla–


	10. Chapter 8: Agent Not Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this time, I decided to take it easy because apparently 'SpeNCeR dEseRVEs A brEAk'… anywayyyyyy please enjoy this chapter that took way too long to write and that I'm too lazy to proofread :)

It had been nearly three weeks since Spencer had disappeared. The BAU was on high-alert, searching everywhere for their beloved boy-genius, but they seemed to be out of luck. Even with Garcia’s unparalleled digital tracking skills, they had found no trace of Spencer or Ophelia… anywhere.

What was even worse was that both Rossi and JJ were stuck at home pending reinstatement. Ophelia definitely wanted to do damage, there was no doubt about it, but not even the BAU had expected her to do this much. More than half of the S.W.A.T. team had died and JJ almost went along with them.

The only good thing that came from this mishap, was that they were now certain that Ophelia was the one they were looking for. Her face was plastered onto every TV screen, every social media ad, and every billboard across the Western seaboard. People called in every few hours telling them about how they were certain they had seen Ophelia. One minute they’d be called about a lead in Washington and moments later there would be a supposed sighting in San Diego. Every time, the same result confronted them: Failure.

In reality, she had been staying in Arizona the whole time. Her connections just happened to be so good that she never had to leave home or worry about traitors. Every man that worked for her was wrapped around her finger. They either owed her big-time or had something that they were terrified of losing. Ophelia had her ways of manipulating the people around her– one of the many perks that came with being what her mother used to call a ‘social genius’, but a larger portion of her talents could also be attributed to her ex-partner, Cat.

Back in Los Angeles, Hotch was incessantly going over the case. He felt like it was his fault that Spencer had been targeted. After Hailey took Jack with her to Pennsylvania, Spencer practically became a surrogate son for Hotch. He spent every waking moment ensuring that Spencer was both physically and mentally prepared for each new case, petrified that someday Spencer might relive the same pain he felt when he lost Maeve. Aaron blamed himself for everything that happened to Spencer, after all, Hotch was the agent in charge of the BAU and Reid was one of the many agents who worked under him. If he could not even protect Spencer– one of his own men– how could he protect anyone at all?

He felt like a failure for not asking Penelope to look further into Ophelia’s background or asking Spencer why he seemed so stiff when they were preparing to raid Ophelia’s homes. He should have dug deeper, all it would have taken was a question along with a few minutes and he would have discovered the years of history between Ophelia and Spencer. He would have realized that Spencer’s immaculate, eidetic memory was trying to suppress the time he had spent with Ophelia, hoping that she would have forgotten him. Now, however, the only things that Hotch could see in front of him were his own mistakes. Mistakes that he could have prevented.

As soon as they discovered that Reid was missing– and not dead as he had originally been presumed– they did a deep, deep dive into his and Ophelia’s past. The first connection that Garcia found was that they had attended the same high school. Initially, it was assumed to be a coincidence, but Emily– never believing in coincidences– asked Penelope to dig deeper into the matter.

They soon found mountains of records and articles that painted a picture of an inseparable duo. A duo that was bonded by their intelligence and trauma.

_Two and a Half Weeks Ago_

Prentiss spoke up in the silent conference room, directing her comment to Penelope who was waiting for instruction back in Quantico. “Hey, Penelope. I know we’ve all been having a rough time with Reid being gone for almost a week, but we figured it might be best to start at the very beginning. Since Ophelia had a very accelerated timeline, it might be beneficial to look into her high school or middle school years, those tend to be extremely marking… especially when someone’s as young as she was.”

To cover up the pain of missing her favorite genius, Garcia chirped. “I like the way you think, Em!”

Garcia began tapping away at her keyboard, not only pulling up Ophelia’s high school records but also comparing them with Spencer’s. “Okay, so there’s no overlap in middle schools, they attended middle schools on completely opposite sides of town. But, you know how our kid genius went to Shadow Ridge High School? Well, he wasn’t the only kid genius graduating from there in 1994… Ophelia did too, at the age of thirteen. Also, why do you guys think Ophelia went to the same public high school as Reid? It doesn’t really make any sense if you think about it… it could just be a coincidence, right?”

The whole team stopped in their tracks to look at Garcia’s face plastered on a big TV in the conference room. They were stunned, their eyebrows raised high and eyes widened.

“Penelope, can you try to pull up any records from the school? Local newspapers, scholastic competitions, all of that? It’s a long shot, but I think they knew each other.”

She looked up at Emily with hope in her eyes, “Yes! Of course, your wish is my command.”

Garcia searched frantically, unearthing piles of information that she had ignored before. She even discovered an article that explicitly described their friendship.

_Las Vegas’ Own Mini-Einsteins: The Story of Spencer Reid and Ophelia Sutton_

The article detailed how they met on their first day of high school, how they both tested out of higher-level arithmetic courses, and became the school’s best– and only– Science Olympiad team. They were both interviewed for the article and spoke about how life as child prodigies did not leave much room for childhood or friendship. They spoke of how miraculous it was that they were able to endure the situation together, a one in a million chance. By the end of the article, the interviewer was even privy to the details of where each of them was committed to college and how that decision drove a stake through their friendship.

Soon enough, Garcia had discovered dozens of the pair’s research papers ranging from topics of law to theoretical mathematics. Children who conducted research on the weekends and spent weekdays helping local teachers were not exactly the most likely contenders for murder, but Ophelia proved that assumption to be very wrong.

How did she miss something this big? All of the signs were so clear and obvious, but Penelope had missed every single one of them.

“Uh, Sir, please don’t get mad. But, they definitely knew each other. They had a looooooong history, and even if Ophelia didn’t realize it was Spencer, he surely would have remembered her.”

Hotch spoke sternly as he inquired, “Garcia, why did we not know this sooner?”

“I’m sorry, Sir. There was so much information about Ophelia that her high school education seemed trivial at the time. She had already done so much by then… I just… I-I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“From now on, every minuscule detail is relevant. Nothing is irrelevant. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” She looked down at her keyboard and felt guilt coursing through her mind.

Spencer would still be here if she had seen this sooner, wouldn’t he? Was it not her job to find every connection between the unsub and the world around them? It was. It had been her job to do the same with Ophelia and she failed.

Garcia lifted her perfectly manicured hand and hovered it over the call button before firmly pressing down to end the connection between herself and the rest of the team.

“I did this? Spencer’s gone. And it’s my fau–” Before Garcia could even choke out the last syllable, she burst into tears.

Despite her best efforts to quell her sadness, the tears only flowed faster and harder with each waking second. Her breath shuddered and echoed into the dark corners of the control room as tears splattered onto her keyboard. The perfect makeup that Garcia had done that morning was now ruined with dark mascara running down her cheeks. She rubbed her hands against her eyes to dry them, further smudging her eye makeup, and dragged them down her face, forgetting that she was wearing bright pink lipstick and it now covered her entire chin.

Garcia was, by all definitions, a mess, but she refused to let that stop her from finding Spencer. She got him into this mess and now she was going to fix it. She typed rapidly, checking off every missing box that she had originally failed to account for.

She pulled up employment, travel, and spending records from 1994 and beyond. Though there was not much information due to the lack of digitalization back then, Garcia was able to construct a much more detailed photograph of Ophelia’s past than she had before.

Pulling up a page on Ophelia’s Freshman through Junior year roommate, Garcia got to work.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Hi, Miss Glas? My name is Penelope Garcia. I’m a technical analyst with the FBI and I need to ask you a few things about your old college roommate, Ophelia Sutton. But first I do have to go over some routine questions.”

“Of course, whatever you need. And please, call me Margaret, what’s going on? Is Lia okay? Has something happened?”

Garcia, in her best attempt to be professional about the sensitive situation, spoke very officially to Margaret, “I’m afraid that I cannot tell you much about the situation at the present moment.”

The truth was that no one knew if Spencer was even in danger, but with no signs of life, they could only assume the worst. Worst case scenario, Ophelia was not going to stop killing or spare Spencer’s life and that could not happen. The team had already suffered so much loss in past years that losing their Reid was not an option, not today or tomorrow.

“So, Margaret, have you been in contact with Miss Sutton within the past six months? And if so, what was the nature of this contact?”

“Uhhh… no, actually. I haven’t spoken to Ophelia in years. I believe the last time we communicated must have been in 2000, it was a long time ago.”

“Wonderful. We can now get into the details and I can provide you with some more information on the situation. You should know that Ophelia is the primary suspect in a series of murders in California. I know that you both graduated a very long time ago, but any information that you remember about her, any details, could save many lives.”

“Oh my. That’s… that’s serious. Yes, of course, I’ll help. Is there anything specific that you’d like to know about Ophelia?”

“Let’s start with her general behavior and habits. So, basically, how was she as a student? Was she responsible? Was she a night owl? That kind of stuff.”

“Right, um. So, Ophelia was always a standout student, I mean she would stay after class to help professors all the time and ask them questions. They always loved her. She wasn’t very social though, she stayed in a lot. She would get up really early to do personal studying, though I never found out what it was that she was studying. Ophelia never was the kind of person to get into conflicts either, from what I could tell, she was a very morally upstanding kid. I’m just shocked that she could ever kill someone.”

“I understand, it’s a very tough thing to imagine. Especially when you knew the person. Did Ophelia ever talk about traveling? Or possibly extracurricular interests? Anything like that could also be very helpful.”

“She always talked about Alaska, Arizona, and Arkansas. I don’t remember the details, but I always figured it was just something to do with the names… they all started with ‘A’, that’s why I remembered. Other than that, she didn’t seem too interested in traveling. Extracurricular involvement for Ophelia was pretty sparse. I think she tried out Quiz Bowl for a few semesters, probably got bored after winning every time. I can tell you that the guys she competed against were not happy to lose to a teenager… She also opted to take the pistol course for her athletic requirement. I thought it was a strange choice for a 14-year-old, but I didn’t question it. Do you think she’s been planning this since then?”

“We don’t know at this point, it’s a bit too soon to jump to any conclusions, but I’m just trying to fully understand what she might do next and where she might be.”

“Yeah, I understand. Is there anything else?”

“Do you know if Ophelia kept in contact with anyone from outside of MIT during her time there?”

“I remember that she would call her best friend every Monday and Friday night, never got a name, unfortunately. I think they stopped talking after Sophomore year though, don’t know why.”

“Thank you so much, Margaret, you’ve been a tremendous help. If you remember anything else please don’t hesitate to call me back at this number and I’ll also keep in touch just in case. Have a great day.”

“No problem, you too.”

Garcia put down the phone, feeling slightly lighter and less stressed. It was barely any information, but it had already helped a great deal. She now understood Ophelia better as a person, and while there was not much to know, she hoped it would help her locate Ophelia and Spencer soon.

With the holidays coming up, Penelope wanted to ensure that Spencer would be able to celebrate with the team just like they always did. Together, like a family.

She swung her chair over to another monitor and started creating a digital evidence board. Garcia began with the obvious: Alaska, Arizona, and Arkansas. It was a weak lead, but it was a start.

“If I were trying to run away from the feds… where would I go? Arkansas is obsolete, but it’s too far to get to quickly. It would be too risky.”

She tapped her feathered pen against her chin as she thought. “Same thing for Alaska, it would be an ideal spot, but it’s not feasible, not on such short notice.”

“She has to be in Arizona. If she’s in any of these places, it has to be Arizona.” Bringing up a large map of Arizona, Garcia examined it carefully.

“If I were a murderous mastermind, where would I head? Not to a large city, I might get spotted. Too far into the desert and I might run into other problems. The suburbs–”

Garcia searched all Arizona suburbs, compiling a list of the most secluded ones. Arizona had over 90 towns, however, and the list of neighborhoods was even larger. Narrowing down each section by population density and available land, Garcia was able to suss out a few dozen contenders. The majority of them were located near Sedona, Bisbee, or Prescott. All of these towns were perfect for Ophelia, small enough that she could isolate herself, but still large enough for her to satisfy her distinct needs.

Kicking back in her rolling chair, Garcia stared at her computer screen. It was not often that she got stumped, and this case was one of the few that was getting to her. Garcia slipped her hands gently through her hair, frustrated and irate. One more clue and she would probably be able to pinpoint their exact location, yet that last, crucial clue seemed to evade her mind like oil in water. Knowing that she was on the brink of cracking the case drove her wild, and the rest of the BAU felt similarly.

Honestly, she was so close to the case– and Spencer– that she knew she should not even be working on it, but she also could not trust Kevin to find Reid. Sure, he was a good technical analyst, but he had nothing on Garcia’s years of experience on both the dark and light sides of the web. She knew that no matter what, she had to be the one to find him. At this point, she could barely even tell if this desire existed purely because she wanted to help spencer, or if it was to save her from the heaps of guilt that consumed her.

Garcia sat there for what seemed like hours contemplating life, death, and fear– all in the context of Reid’s capture, of course. She was drawn out of her trance, however, when she heard the line ringing on her headset. Assuming that the rest of the team would be on the other side, she composed herself and spoke with her usual, cheery voice. “Garcia speaking, how may I assist you?”

“Hey, Babygirl. How’s the search comin’ along? We just wanted to check in and see if you found anything that we can work with to narrow down our geographic profile.” She was ecstatic to hear his voice. Every time that they spoke, Garcia felt like she was being enveloped in a warm hug. He just had that kind of effect on her, he was the home she never found after her parents’ death… in summary, he was her person.

Garcia immediately felt her tension and stress being relieved and even became excited to share her newest findings. “Ohhhh, my Chocolate Thunder! It’s so good to hear your voice! I’ve compiled a list of places where I think Ophelia may be. They’re all in Arizona, and before you ask, there is a good reason for me choosing Arizona. One. Her old roommate said that Ophelia had an obsession with Alaska, Arizona, and Arkansas. Now, which one of those would make for an easy getaway from California? Arizona. Two. These towns are all isolated enough for her to keep out of the media’s view but large enough for her to replenish supplies and keep Spencer without drawing attention to herself… assuming that he is– as I hope– still alive. I know it’s a bit of a long list, but it’s the best I could do right now.”

The team’s tablets all chimed as Garcia sent over the file. It was a list of nearly sixty neighborhoods and they were scattered all over the state. Considering Arizona’s diverse topography, sending teams to check all of those locations would be nearly impossible so they still needed to narrow down the list. Luckily, that’s what the profilers were there for.

“Alright, Garcia. We’ll take a look at this list in a bit, before we go, is there anything else that you’ve found?” Hotch inquired.

“I have a few tidbits of extra information from when I spoke with Ophelia’s old roommate, but I’ll just send you a summary over email. Let me know if you guys need anything else, Garcia out!”

She hung up abruptly and with a flourish. If there was one thing about Penelope that was always constant, it was her energy.

_Present Day_

The team was constantly distracted, falling apart piece by piece. As much as they hated to admit it, after Garcia and Emily’s big break a few weeks ago, they got stuck. No progress had been made since then and Barnes was threatening to take them off of the case. She wanted to replace them with some amateurs, but they would never let her. Getting Reid back was much too important of a job to pass over to inexperienced agents. This was something they would have to themselves, whether Barnes approved or not.

After their second week of searching turned up with no results, they were forced to leave LA and move back to Quantico, reuniting the remaining members of the team once more. Despite Garcia being more than happy to see the rest of the team again, the toll of the case had exceeded everyone else’s happiness and they spent every waking second working. Hotch had taken a spot on his office couch while Morgan, Garcia, and Emily slept at their workspaces.

They worked tirelessly, chasing even the smallest leads. Unfortunately, they were still much too afraid to start searching the neighborhoods on Garcia’s list– fearing that they might tip off Ophelia prematurely, leading to her fleeing, Spencer’s death, or both– and were stuck searching for breadcrumbs.

“Agent Hotchner, I need to speak with you,” Barnes called down to him from outside of his own office’s door as he stood next to Morgan in the Bullpen.

“Yes, ma’am, just give me a second to sign this report for Agent Morgan and I’ll head up.”

Hotch quickly signed the remaining sheets of paper that Morgan was holding out towards him and clambered up the stairs where Barnes was already waiting inside. She had taken his seat, leaving him to sit in the guest chair across from her. He could not help but feel a pit forming in his stomach as sweat accumulated on the back of his neck.

Barnes crossed her hands in front of her and stared at Hotch intensely. “SSA Hotchner, do you know why I’ve called you in today?”

“No, ma’am. May I ask what the issue is?”

“The issue, Agent, is that you and your team have directly disobeyed my orders to abandon the Sutton case. Not only have you undermined my authority, but you cannot keep sleeping here. It’s unprofessional and disgusting. We have other agents who are more than happy to take over while you’re all out, if there are any breaks in the case, you would be notified immediately… but you already knew that. Didn’t you?”

Slightly worried that it had been a trick question, he hesitated before speaking. “Ummm, yes. I do know that, but we’re not clocking in any overtime hours so I don’t see why it’s an issue for us to stay here on our own time to work on the case, Director.”

“I’ll tell you why. First off, the case is no longer yours, all cases are confidential and none of you have clearance to work on it anymore. Second, since you’re not logging your hours, you’re trespassing, and on top of that, you become a liability for the agency because for that same reason. Not to mention how you’re also unofficially wasting government resources. So, Agent Hotchner, either get your team under control, or you will _all_ be demoted before you can get to your apartment. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Director. I’ll speak to them now.”

“Good, tell Prentiss to clean up her cubicle while you’re at it, it’s uncharacteristically messy over there.”

He got up from the chair, letting out a long sigh as he walked out and straightened his tie. Reaching down into his pocket, he pulled out his phone to message Morgan, Prentiss, and Garcia.

_“Conference room. Now. We need to talk.”_

Hotch stepped into the conference room and assumed a position at the front of the room, a position of power. After speaking to Barnes, he needed it. He needed to feel powerful again.

Slowly but surely, the rest of the agents trickled in. After all, there were only three of them and it did not take long. As usual, Emily arrived first, followed by Derek, and then Penelope who walked in rubbing her eyes groggily. Hotch glanced at his wristwatch when he saw Garcia’s state and realized that it was already two in the morning. They had evidently become accustomed to working odd hours and today was no exception.

“I’ve just spoken to the Director about our team, and she has brought up some issues that need to be addressed immediately,” He spoke clearly and concisely, not sparing a moment to elaborate.

“One, we will no longer be working on the Sutton case. I understand that it will be difficult, but we’ve already been working behind the Director’s back and gotten caught once. I don’t want to wait around to see what will happen if we do it again. Two, no more staying overnight at the Bureau unless absolutely necessary. The Director was less than happy to find out about our sleeping arrangements, and again, I don’t want to have to speak with her about this more than once. Lastly, just get some sleep. Lord knows we all need it. Go home, see your families, visit JJ and Rossi, whatever it takes to get your minds off of the Sutton case.”

With that, everyone got up to go home. However, Hotch spoke up just before Prentiss left, “Emily, stay back for a moment. There’s just something minor that I was asked to mention to you.”

“Sure, what’s up?” She turned around briefly and stood in the doorway.

“This is not coming from me, these are not my words, but the Director did say that– and I quote– ‘tell Prentiss to clean up her cubicle while you’re at it, it’s uncharacteristically messy over there.’”

A small smile broke across Hotch’s face as Emily laughed at what he had said. Part of it was attributed to sleep deprivation, but it had also been the most nonchalant thing that they had spoken about in a while so it felt as light as a joke. Of course, Emily knew that it was not a joke and kept his words in mind as she turned away.

“You’ve got it, boss.” She brought two fingers up to her forehead and pretended to salute him as she walked off.

As they filed out of the Bullpen, however, their faces hung low again. They were burdened by the anticipation and guilt that surrounded the case, but they could do nothing about it. Prentiss offered a sleepy Garcia a ride home and Morgan and Hotch left in their own cars. Soon, the BAU had been deserted with only a tired Barnes lingering behind.


	11. Update

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will delete this “chapter” once I get a chance to update more :)

Not that many people read my stories, but I do just want to let those of you who read them know that I’m a high school senior and I am under a _lot_ of pressure right now so I will be updating kind of slowly for the next few months. I hope that doesn’t make you stop reading and have a wonderful day! (I do still write, it just takes longer now)


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